



Ibe 

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THE BOY WOODCRAFTER 




By CLA] 

"WOODS 


RENCE HAWKES 


and water SERIES" 


Field and 


Forest Friends. A 


Boy's World and How he Discov- | 


ered it. 


Illustrated by Charles 1 


Copeland, $1.25 net. 


The Boy 


Woodcrafter. Illus- 


trated by 


Charles Copeland, $1.25 


net. 




F. G. 


BROWNE & CO. 


PUBLISHERS 


CHICAGO 



THE BOY 
WOODCRAFTER 



BY 

CLARENCE HAWKES 

AUTHOR OP "SHAGGYCOAT,*' "bLACK BRUIN," "THE 
TRAIL TO THE WOODS,*' ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

CHARLES COPELAND 




CHICAGO 
F. G. BROWNE & CO. 

1913 



.H3 



COPYRIGHT, 1913 
BY F. G. BROWNE & CO. 



Copyright in England 
All rights reserved 



PUBLISHED, SEPTEMBER, 1913 



THE. PLIMPTON 'PRESS 
NORWOOD* MASS. U'S'A 



©CI,A354459 



DEDICATED 

TO THE BOY SCOUTS 

OF AMERICA 

With cordial cooperation in their out-of- 
doors enterprise^ and a hearty hand- 
shake, and a warm heart-beat of good- 
will for each young Scout himself 



Then the little Hiawatha 
Learned of every bird its language. 
Learned their names and all their secrets. 
How they built their nests in Summer, 
Where they hid themselves in Winter, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them. 
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." 
Of all the beasts he learned the language. 
Learned their names and all their secrets. 
Talked with them whene'er he met them. 
Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers." 

— Longfellow, 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTEE PAGE 

Introductory: Why Every Boy Should 

Be a Naturalist 15 

I One's Own Back Door Yard . . S5 

II A Wary Mother 57 

III A Lively Bee Hunt . . ... .77 

IV The Speckled Heifer's Calf . . 95 
V Camping with Old Ben . . . .117 

VI Forest Footfalls ...... 143 

VII In the Hunter's Moon . . . .157 

VIII A Winter Walk . . . . . .175 

IX Campfire Legends of the Wood 

Folks 199 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Uttering a series of most blood curdling 
screeches and snarls .... Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Mr. Fox did not finish his remarks . . .140 



Turning my head to look over my shoulder as 
I jumped 170 

He stamped and snorted again, this time giv- 
ing a short whistle ....... 192 



A NATURALIST 



THE BOY 
WOODCRAFTER 

Introductory 
Why Every Boy Should Be a Naturalist 

JjjYERY boy should be a naturalist be- 
cause the out of doors world is his king- 
dom and he takes to it as gracefully as 
the newly hatched, downy, little duck does 
to water. A boy is naturally a primitive 
little man, and that means that he is more 
or less of a little savage. He harks back 
more naturally to the days when man lived 
in a tent or a wigwam, or even in a cave, 
than does his father, because the man is 
old and spoiled by training and education, 
while the boy is fresh and unspoiled by 
the ways of the world. 

15 



i6 The Boy Woodcrafter 

Every normal boy is more or less of a 
Hiawatha, although I am inclined to think 
that even Hiawatha was a model Indian 
youth. 

The boy's first instinct is to subdue the 
wild creatures of the fields and forest. 
But fortunately for him, and also for the 
birds, squirrels and bunnies, the new 
school of nature wiriters has taught him 
that there is a better way than killing 
or subduing his furred and feathered 
friends. 

More and more will he be taught as time 
goes on, that there are priceless secrets in 
the head of each bird and squirrel that can- 
not be gotten from them with a gun or 
a slingshot, for it is only by gaining the 
confidence of our forest friends that we 
can find out these secrets. 

One such secret that you can impart to 
your friends and to the boy's world is 
worth many well filled game bags. 

I am inclined to think that this longing 



Every Boy a Naturalist 17 

for the out of doors is the very first im- 
pulse that a boy has. That is why when 
he is still in skirts he runs away, seeking 
with unsteady feet the world of nature 
outside. Picking flowers, is usually sup- 
posed to belong to the domain of girls, 
but before a boy gets really into pants, 
while he is still in skirts, he may be ex- 
cused if he does girlish things. So you 
will frequently find him with both chubby 
fists tightly clutched about the heads of a 
bouquet of dandelions and buttercups. 

He holds them so tightly that he has 
shut off their breath, and their heads 
droop sadly in his chubby fist. You can 
mark his way aU down through the mow- 
ing to the pasture by the buttercups and 
daisies scattered along the way. In his 
eagerness to pluck them he only gets an 
inch or two of stem, so they are constantly 
falling from his clutch. 

Now you boys may think that is a very 
childish, girlish amusement, but it shows 



l8 The Boy Woodcrafter 

the drift of the boy's mind. He begins 
subduing all nature by subduing the 
flowers of the fields. From the wild 
flowers it is but a step to the wintergreen 
patch in the pasture, and then but another 
round up the ladder of nature to the nut 
gathering expeditions of the Autumn 
time, and I think that even you will ad- 
mit that these expeditions to the forest in 
the golden Autumn are a real boy's 
sports. 

Whenever any one mentions going for 
chestnuts, butternuts or shag-barks, I al- 
ways fall to laughing away inside me 
where no one can hear. Such conversa- 
tions remind me of two boys who once 
went for beechnuts. They found them in 
abundance and filled their baskets. When 
all the receptacles had been filled there 
were still plenty of nuts in sight, and day- 
light for two hours more picking, but 
nothing to put the nuts in. Finally the 
older boy persuaded the younger to take 



Every Boy a Naturalist 19 

off his undershirt and tie up the armholes 
and the neck and that was filled with 
beechnuts. 

When they arrived home the boys 
slipped up to the garret without being 
seen, and emptied the shirt and the small 
boy again put it on. 

That night they had company but not 
even the excitement of being admitted to 
the parlor, where the family received in 
state, could dispel from the mind of the 
urchin the terrible fact that something was 
the matter with his undershirt. Ten 
thousand needles seemed to be sticking 
into him, and every time that he moved or 
tried to scratch himself the number was in- 
creased to twenty thousand. When the 
company had gone, the boy rushed frantic- 
ally to his bedroom and tore off his under- 
shirt and found that it was bristling with 
the prickers from the burrs of the beech- 
nuts. 

Did I ever tell you of the small boy, a 



20 The Boy Woodcrafter 

close relation of the youngster who filled 
his shirt with beechnuts, who thought he 
could kick the pan of a woodchuck trap, 
when it was set and still get his bare toe 
out of the way before the jaws of the trap 
came together? It is a sorrowful tale 
and I hate to tell you very much about it. 
The trap certainly was very spry, and 
the boy must have tried the experiment 
with his slow foot, for he was just a sec- 
ond too late. 

It is mighty funny what a difference a 
second's time will make on such an oc- 
casion. Anyhow the boy learned a great 
lesson about being on time, and what a fine 
thing punctuality is, especially when you 
are kicking off woodchuck traps with your 
bare toe. 

Why is it that the first time a small boy 
runs away, he always runs to the brook if 
there is a brook within running distance? 

I think it is because the brook is calling 
to him, and that he hears its low sweet 



Every Boy a Naturalist 21 

voice from afar. Certainly the little 
stream is destined to play an important 
part in his after life. 

Three great lessons of life the boy 
can learn from the little brook. The first 
of these is purity. No matter how much 
you defile the little stream to-day, to- 
morrow it is just as pure and sweet as 
ever, reflecting the blue sky above and the 
willows upon its banks like the wonderful 
mirror it is. 

The second lesson is that of industry. 
The brook is never idle, but always pushes 
on to its fulfillment. Over dams and down 
flumes it rushes, doing its appointed 
work. 

The third lesson is that of helpfulness. 
No matter where the little stream wan- 
ders, the country through which it passes 
is always richer for its coming. 

To the wide-awake boy the life in the 
stream and upon its banks is a wonderful 
book and he never tires of reading it. 



22 The Boy Woodcrafter 

It is divided into four chapters, Spring; 
Summer, Autumn, and Winter, and the 
story for each is quite different. 

In the Spring, he can tell you where 
the pussy-willows first shake out their cat- 
kins, and w^here the sweet flag grows; 
just where the noisy old kingfisher digs 
a hole in the bank for his nest, and which 
stub tree along the bank is his favorite 
fishing perch. He knows where the mink 
brings forth her family and how they 
frolic, darting in and out among the 
stones; just when the suckers begin to 
run and when the spearing is best; the 
favorite holes for trout, and the best pools 
for swimming. 

All these things and many more the 
boy reads in the Spring chapter of that 
story about the brook. 

You boys all remember the old mill. 
The one that has now fallen into disuse. 
It was a famous spot to spend a Summer 
afternoon in my boyhood. The water 



Every Boy a Naturalist 23 

came tumbling over the dam with a pleas- 
ant sound, and the pond above was as 
transparent as the sky. 

Upon the pond was a contrivance that 
we boys used to call a boat. It was 
watersoaked and heavy and it leaked 
like a sieve, but that made no difference. 
The best canoe in the world, with all its 
paint and nickel, could not have given us 
half the pleasure the old tub did. If it 
was leaky that gave just the proper thrill 
about going out in her. One boy for the 
bailing can, and two to row. That con- 
stituted a crew for the Pride of the 
Wave, as we called her. Of course she 
could be run short-handed, but one man 
had to always keep the bailing going, no 
matter what happened. 

The Autumn and Winter chapters 
of the brook's story were not as long and 
interesting as the other two. It was fun 
though, to explore the stream for muskrat 
houses, and see how industriously the rats 



24 The Boy Woodcrafter 

had builded against the coming of Win- 
ter. 

In Winter, skating and fishing through 
the ice were the essential things in this 
water story, so you see there was no time 
of year that the stream and the ponds 
which it fed were not calling to the 
boy. 

Learning to smm and to paddle a canoe 
or row a boat are an essential part of 
every boy's education. More and more 
as time goes on will boys be taught these 
useful accomplishments. For this rea- 
son alone, the boys' camps, that are be- 
coming so numerous all over the country, 
are performing a splendid service. 

When you can so combine a boy's 
work with his play that he cannot tell 
where one begins and the other leaves oif, 
work becomes play and is no longer irk- 
some. Berry picking in the country is 
such work. There is so much to learn 
while one is berry picking that the labor 



Every Boy a Naturalist 25 

is tempered with pleasure and never end- 
ing surprises. 

A score of birds are flying to and fro 
in the blue-berry lot, and the boy must 
know all their names. If there is a bird 
whose name he does not know he will not 
rest until he has found it out. 

It is just along the edge of the woods 
where the blackberries grow that the par- 
tridge brings forth her brood to get their 
share of the luscious fruit. The gray 
rabbits also hop out and in among the 
blackberry patches. Dut on the cran- 
berry bog are some of the largest musk- 
rat houses that were ever built by a rat 
family. 

Beechnutting, chestnutting and wal- 
nutting are all work that is play. Days 
that are full of surprises and wonderful 
secrets to be learned from the book of 
nature. 

In the Winter, the book of life in field 
and woods is even more interesting than 



26 The Boy Woodcrafter 

in the Summer, although there is not so 
much going on. 

Then each little four-footed denizen of 
the forest leaves his name and his address 
written in the new snow. Not only this, 
but he often tells you his business, and 
upon what errand he is intent. 

In the Winter a desperate game is be- 
ing played by all these forest kin. It is 
the game of catching the other fellow and 
not being caught yourself. 

Often a feather and a drop of blood in 
the snow tells its pitiful tale. All of 
these things are as interesting to the wide- 
awake boy as the most exciting book, 
once he learns to read the signs in the 
snow. But you may say, these things 
apply only to the country boy. They 
are not for the city youth. 

Perhaps they apply with more force 
to the country boy, but there is still a 
deal of nature in the average city, if you 
will only look for it. There are more 



Every Boy a Naturalist 27 

night hawks in the city than in the country. 
Even in large cities like Boston and New 
York they rear their young high up on 
the roofs of the skyscrapers, and you may 
see them circling above the thickly 
thronged streets, uttering their hoarse 
cries. In every water spout, and nearly 
(every cranny the English sparrow has 
built her nest, and they swarm upon trees, 
telephone and telegraph wires. Squirrels 
abound in city parks, and they are tamer 
and not so hard to observe as the squirrels 
in the country. 

Robins build their nests in the shade 
trees along the city street, and scold at 
the passer-by. Of all our American 
birds, Mr. Burroughs considers the robin 
the most social, and companionable. 

A friend of mine reported hearing the 
hermit thrush pouring out his tender 
evening love song, in the very heart of 
Boston. 

Another friend had a peculiar experi- 



28 The Boy Woodcrafter 

ence in the celebrated historical burying 
ground, King's Chapel, in the congested 
portion of Boston, He chanced to wan- 
der in there one Winter's twilight, and 
looking up into the boughs of the fir 
trees discovered that they were literally 
alive with sparrows. Hundreds and 
thousands of these little birds had come to 
the cemetery to roost in the trees during 
the cold winter night. Each tiny ball of 
feathers had its head tucked under its 
wing, and there they sat, like rows of 
feathery balls. 

The naturalist struck his hands to- 
gether and all the hundreds of heads came 
out from under the many wings like a 
flash, and bright eyes winked down at 
him, but in another moment all had dis- 
appeared under the wings again. 

It is a matter of congratulation to the 
youth of America that boys are at last 
coming into their own. Their aims and 
ambitions are now being understood. 



Every Boy a Naturalist 29 

Each year thousands, and tens of thou- 
sands, of boys go forth to nature to spend 
happy and helpful weeks in the boys' 
camp. Here they are brought close to 
nature, and some of that primaeval happi- 
ness and knowledge, that civilization has 
robbed them of, is returned to them. 

Here the city boy, less fortunate than 
his country cousin in many ways, may 
learn to row and swim, to fish and tramp 
the woods just as eagerly as his forebears 
did, when the country was young and all 
lived near to nature. 

Here he is taught to paddle a canoe 
and pitch a tent, and to take care of him- 
self under conditions quite different from 
those of his normal daily life. 

Ernest Thompson Seton's ''Little Sav- 
ages," and Colonel Baden Powell's ''Boy 
Scouts" are natural boys. Both of these 
movements are in the right direction. 

It is a fine thing for a boy to be taught 
that primitive knowledge of the red man. 



30 The Boy Woodcrafter 

which we are so rapidly forgetting. To 
know how to travel by the stars when no 
compass is at hand, or, if the night is 
cloudy, by the lean of the timber or by 
the moss upon the trees, may some day 
save the grown man's life. To build a fire 
in the forest when the boughs are drip- 
ping rain, or even when there is snow on 
the ground, may some time prove equally 
helpful. To build a camp fire without 
having any smoke, and then to be able to 
cook a good meal by it, are accomplish- 
ments that no boy need scorn. 

These are accomplishments our ances- 
tors knew. Arts that every man is glad 
to possess when his country's call comes, 
for they are very essential to the life of 
a soldier. 

If boys would be strong of limb, quick 
to see and understand, self-reliant and 
happy, live in the open. Live near to 
nature and know all her secrets. That 
alone will give you a clear brain, a keen 



Every Boy a Naturalist 31 

eye, and a heart like the oak, which the 
wind and the cold have toughened. 

This will be no hardship for you, for as 
I have already observed the out-of-doors 
is a Boy's Kingdom. The open fields 
and the sweet, green woods are his world 
and once he has tasted their joys he will 
never be satisfied for the whole year with 
the restrictions of city life. For a few 
weeks at least each year he will break 
away from pavements and go back to the 
mold of the forest. 

How well all the truly great men have 
understood these things. Tolstoi says 
that all of our strength comes up from 
Mother Earth through the soles of the 
feet. A gift from the heart of nature 
to the soul of man. It is for you boys to 
learn these things while you are still 
young in order that in your old age you 
may not know too late of the world of 
happiness you have missed. The child is 
father of the man, and the boy is richer in 



32 The Boy Woodcrafter 

his happiness than he will ever be again. 
The poet Hood understood this when he 
sang: 

"I remember^ I remember the fir tree dark and high, 
I used to think its slender top would reach unto 

the sky. 
It was but childish ignorance^ but now 'tis little 

joy 

To know I'm further off from heaven than when I 
was a boy." 



ONES OWN BACK DOOR-YARD 



Chapter I 

One's Own Bach Door-yard 

It was about ten o'clock of as dismal a 
Saturday morning as ever spoiled a boy's 
fun by raining. 

Old Ben and I had planned a fishing 
trip that would have been memorable 
among all the good times we had enjoyed 
together, but it had rained so hard that 
my mother had vetoed our going. 

The lunch basket was packed, the bait 
dug, and everything was in readiness ex- 
cept the weather. 

But how it did rain! Great gusts of 
wind drove the rain before it in blinding 
sheets, and small rivulets ran in the road, 
and in the walk. 

If it had only been just a drizzle we 

35 



36 The Boy Woodcrafter 

would not have minded. The fishing 
would have been all the better, but this 
deluge put all thoughts of our long 
planned trip out of mind. 

I sat on the back porch bewailing my 
hard luck and watching the downpour. 
There was some satisfaction in that, even 
if the storm had spoiled my fun. 

It was a regular duck's day, and no 
mistake. No creature that was not oiled 
from head to foot could stand such a 
drenching as this. 

If I had been a girl, I might have had 
the consolation of crying, but as I was a 
boy and expected to celebrate my eleventh 
birthday soon, even that comfort was de- 
nied me. 

Presently a tall, dark figure loomed up 
through the mist, coming down the path- 
way leading across the mowing at the 
back of the house. At first I thought I 
was mistaken, for sometimes I could see 
it, and then a violent gust of wind and 



One's Own Back Door-Yard 37 

rain would blot it out, but soon it drew 
nearer, and I made out old Ben, coming 
at his accustomed long stride. In an- 
other minute he was hurrying up the steps 
of the back porch the rain fairly stream- 
ing down his long rubber coat. 

He was laughing and chuckling and 
looked the very picture of merriment. 

"Isn't it an awful shame, Ben," I be- 
gan. "This nasty old rain has spoiled 
all our fun, and now we can't take the 
trip to the pond." 

"Fiddlesticks, boy. Yes, we can. 
Why, I expect to go next Saturday. 
You needn't go along unless you want to, 
but I propose to go." 

"I almost know it will rain and be an- 
other horrid day just like this one," I 
said. "Isn't it an awful shame that it 
rains to-day, Ben?" 

"Well, no, Harry, I can't positively 
say that it is, if you want me to tell the 
'honest-Injun- truth.' You see there are 



38 The Boy Woodcrafter 

a great many people in the world and it 
is awful hard for God to suit them all at 
the same time. The poor farmers, who 
raise all the good things for us to eat, 
have been wishing for rain for weeks. 
Everything was gettin' shriveled up; 
crops were all spilin'. If this state of 
affairs had kept up much longer why we 
wouldn't had any crops at all. All the 
trees and flowers looked pathetic and 
droopin', just ^^ though they had lost 
their best friend, and really they had. 

'^So you see there are lots of people 
and things to consider. Maybe, this 
morning, when the sun came up, God saw 
how shriveled things were, and how dis- 
couraged the farmers all looked, and He 
said to Himself T guess I had better have 
a rain to-day; a good hard one, and see 
if it won't freshen things up a bit.' 
Then maybe He said, 'There are old Ben 
and Harry, they want to go to the pond 



One's Own Back Door-Yard 39 

fishing to-day. Now, if it rains, they 
can't go. What shall I do?' 

''Don't you see, Harry, that there 
were hundreds and hundreds of farmers 
who wanted it to rain and only you and 
I who didn't, so God would have to suit 
the greater number." 

Ben's queer picture of God trying to 
suit all the people at once made me smile, 
even though I was greatly disappointed. 
He always had such a bright way of 
looking at things. No matter how bad a 
thing was, old Ben could always find 
some good way of explaining it, and of 
getting sunshine out of it. 

" Well, you are a funny fellow to 
always make things look good when they 
are really bad," I said. ''How do you 
think all these queer thoughts?" 

"Well, boy," said the old man, patting 
me aiFectionately on the head, "it is this 
way. I have lived a long time compared 



40 The Boy Woodcrafter 

with you, and a man can't spend seventy 
years in this beautiful old world without 
doing a pile of thinking. 

*Tt seems to me the more I consider 
how wonderfully the world is made, how 
all the plants and animals are fed, and 
protected, and how even the smallest 
things are made as carefully as though 
they had been mountains, when I get to 
thinking about these things it makes me 
feel that there is a wise and wonderful 
power behind all. So I know that all 
rainy days must be good and the very 
best thing in their place. Now, I will 
take off my coat and we will set right 
down here on the old back porch and have 
the finest kind of a time seeing things." 

''Seeing things!" I gasped in astonish- 
ment. Then the funny side of the prop- 
osition came over me and I laughed till 
I cried. 

"I know you are a great fellow to see 



One's Own Back Door- Yard 41 

things, Ben," I said at last, "but this is 
the greatest joke you ever made." 

''It is no joke at all, Harry," replied 
my friend seriously, "I mean every word 
of it. We will have a fine time seeing 
things. I never yet got tucked into any 
corner in the world where I could not see 
something mighty interesting. 

''Nearest I ever came to seeing ab- 
solutely nothing was down in New York. 
I got cooped up there a day once, and 
I'll admit that I was almost stumped. 
New York comes the nearest to being a 
howling wilderness of any place I was 
ever in. But put me out in the country 
and I can always see something. 

"Now, Harry," he continued, seating 
himself in an old wooden-bottomed chair, 
and tilting it back against the wall for 
comfort, "our field of observation is the 
back porch and just a few feet outside. 
Now, what do you make of it?" 



42 The Boy Woodcrafter 

''A wet slippery floor, some morning- 
glorj^ vines, and, that's all, just a horrid 
place," I answered, "but it isn't quite as 
bad as it was before you came, Ben." 

"Guess your woodsman's specks are 
rather dim this morning," replied Ben 
with a merry twinkle in his eye. ^Ter- 
haps it has rained on them. Guess you 
will have to rub them up, boy. Try 
again; I can see lots of interesting things 
besides those you have mentioned. All 
you have seen is just the frame to the 
picture. What a sorry world this would 
be if people looked only at the frames, 
and let all its beautiful pictures go un- 
noticed!" 

I looked carefully up and down the 
floor boards, peering into all the cracks, 
while old Ben tried to look away and 
keep from laughing. 

Finally I gave it up, and returned to 
my first assertion that it was a dull. 



One's Own Back Door-Yard 43 

stupid place with nothing interesting in 
it. 

Ben laughed. "Well, Harry, suppose 
I just set the ball to rolling. I can see a 
little creature that can make a morsel for 
you that will fairly make your mouth 
water. One of the most wonderful little 
things that God ever made. It and its 
kind know all the secrets of the flowers, 
and the blossoms yield up their very 
sweetest nectar for them. Many of the 
flowers and trees could not bear fruit at 
all if it was not for them. They live in 
a kingdom and have a wonderful queen 
who lays over half a million eggs in her 
short life of a few years. Look at the 
honey bee, Harry, just crawling out of 
that morning glory trumpet. Now, 
there is a study for you; something that 
you might read about a whole lifetime 
and then not find out all there is to learn." 

I looked at the particular trumpet in- 



44 The Boy Woodcrafter 

dicated and saw a very ordinary honey- 
bee, with three golden bands running 
across her abdomen. She was just com- 
ing out of the trumpet and was shaking 
the wet from her wings. 

"Probably got caught in there when 
the rain came up and so thought she 
would wait inside until it was over," said 
Ben. "A very wise decision. When it 
lets up a httle, I presume she will go 
home." 

"Where is her home?" I asked, for I 
had already become interested in this 
three-bended rogue who made so free with 
the flowers. 

"Perhaps it is a little white house, that 
stands in a row of little white houses, on 
bee street," replied my friend, "or may- 
be it is a bee tree two or three miles from 
here. But, in either case, she will not 
waste any time in getting home once she 
has started. 

"When she fairly gets her bearings she 



One's Own Back Door- Yard 45 

will fly home as straight as an old crow 
will make for the rookery, and that has 
come to be a proverb." 

''How can she tell which way to go if 
she cannot see her home?" I asked. "She 
has no road to travel." 

"No, she does not do it that way," re- 
plied Ben. "Many of the animals and 
birds, and even the small insects that some 
people despise, have a sense of direction, 
a kind of compass in their heads that will 
always tell them which is the way home. 
No matter how dark it is or how rough 
the way, this instinct never fails. 

"If a man is lost in the woods or on the 
prairies, his horse knows the way home a 
great deal better than he does, and if he 
is a wise man he will give his faithful 
steed the rein and let him take his master 
home. 

"A dog never gets lost in the woods, 
and a cat can always find her way back to 
the old home when she has been moved. 



46 The Boy Woodcrafter 

We humans don't know it all, Harry, and 
in some ways we are inferior in wisdom 
to God's lesser creatures." 

''What has the bee been doing in the 
morning-glory blossom?" I asked. 

"She's been after honey," replied the 
old man. "The flowers all know her and 
love her too, I reckon, although she takes 
their very heart's secret from them. 

"This is the way she does it. She 
crawls away down into the trumpet until 
she gets where the honey is, then she licks 
it out with her httle tongue, and puts it 
away in her honey stomach. That is a 
small stomach just in front of her real 
stomach. The sweet will stay in there 
until it is partly digested, and then it 
will be ready to put in the comb, that per- 
haps she made yesterday to hold the 
honey. So all the honey that we get is 
partly digested, and that is why sick 
people can eat it." 



One's Own Back Door-Yard 47 

''How many are there in the little white 
house?" I asked. 

''That depends," replied Ben. "Per- 
haps there are fifty or seventy-five thou- 
sand, if it is a very large swarm, or may- 
be there are only ten or fifteen thousand. 
But there are as many bees in a hive as 
there are people in a good-sized city, so 
you see it is quite a family." 

"What do they aU do?" I asked. 

"Different things," replied Ben. "The 
queen lays eggs and her duty is to keep 
laying eggs so that the hive shall keep up 
its numbers. You see, Harry, an ordi- 
nary bee lives only sixty or ninety days, 
so the queen must be diligent to keep 
their numbers good. In the autumn 
there are no bees left in the hive that were 
there in the spring, except the queen. 
They are all dead and new ones have 
taken their places. 

"So the queen lays eggs. The workers 



48 The Boy Woodcrafter 

who are her daughters gather honey, and 
make comb in which to store it. 

''The drones are the queen's sons, and 
they do nothing but live on the honey that 
the daughters gather. After the queen 
has made love to one of them and they 
have been married, the drones are all 
killed, then the hive contains only the 
queen and her daughters. And it is a 
busy place." 

''But what becomes of the queen's hus- 
band?" I asked. 

"He dies the same morning that he is 
married," replied Ben. "His wedding 
day is also his funeral day. His honey- 
moon is short and sweet. 

"But all the honey-bees do not live in 
the little white house. Many of them live 
in bee-trees in the deep woods, where they 
store up hundreds of pounds of honey. It 
is great fun to hunt for a bee-tree." 

"Let's go some day, Ben," I cried, all 
excitement. 



One's Own Back Door- Yard 49 

''All right, boy, I intended to take you 
some time ; but I guess we will not go to- 
day. 

''Now that was pretty good for one 
morning-glory trumpet, Harry. Let's 
see what else there is here on the old back 
porch." 

"This rotten plank is full of ants," I 
said, rather indifferently. 

"Good, boy, good," cried Ben slapping 
me on the shoulder. "Now you are get- 
ting your woodsman's specks rubbed up a 
bit. Perhaps I shall make a woodsman 
of you after all. 

"Well, ants are just about as wonder- 
ful as bees, only I don't love 'em as I do 
the bees, because they are not as useful, 
but they are mighty smart just the 
same. 

"Did you ever imagine when you see a 
large ant-hill in the pasture that in that 
mound is a great republic like the United 
States?" 



50 The Boy Woodcrafter 

"No," I gasped in astonishment, ''tell 
me about it." 

''Well, long before God made man, lie 
made bees and ants. Long before He 
set Adam and Eve in the garden and 
told them to be good, ants and bees were 
running kingdoms and republics. 

"The ants not only have a government 
with a president, but they also have a 
standing army, like the Emperor of 
Germany, and they fight battles with 
other ajit-hills — have spies and scouts 
and real battles. They build roads and 
bridges, and move heavy obstacles that are 
in their way. They do things that, con- 
sidering their size, would make the build- 
ing of Brooklyn bridge by men seem like 
child's play. 

"They are mighty funny little creatures. 
They can bite too. If you don't believe 
it just step on an ant-hill some time and 
let about a thousand of them run up your 
leg. 



One's Own Back Door- Yard 51 

* 'Don't see anything else about the old 
porch, do you, Harry?" continued Ben. 

I peeked into all the cracks and cran- 
nies, but could see nothing. 

"I can see a mighty interesting old 
chap in the dirt just underneath the 
piazza," said Ben pointing almost under 
my bare feet. "If he had been a bear he 
might have bitten you." 

I strained my eyes almost to the burst- 
ing point but could see nothing. 

"It is just one of nature's little tricks, 
boy," said Ben. "He is what is called 
protectively colored. That is, his clothes 
just match his surroundings." 

He was lying partly buried in the dirt, 
and even when Ben pointed him out to 
me, I could not see him until we poked 
him with a stick, and made him disclose 
himself. 

"He is a great hider, is Bufo, the hop- 
toad," continued Ben, "and a most use- 
ful little creature. I do not know 



52 The Boy Woodcrafter 

whether he really has a precious jewel in 
his head or not, but he is a precious jewel 
himself to the farmer, for he catches many 
injurious worms and bugs and helps to 
save the farmer's crops from destruction. 
We could not get along without him, for 
all he is an ugly looking fellow. 

"His tongue is fastened at the other 
end from what yours is, Harry, so all he 
has to do when he sees a fly is to flick it 
out, and as his tongue is sticky, like fly 
paper, Mr. Fly is caught before he knows 
it. 

''Bufo is quite a musician too. In the 
spring when the bullfrogs and the hylas 
are singing, you will hear him down by 
the pool. He puff*s out his throat until 
you would think it must burst, and then 
sends forth a shrill tremulous note, that 
can be heard for a long distance. 

''A family of toads under the front 
door-step is as good as a circus any even- 
ing." 



One's Own Back Door- Yard 53 

''Where in the world did you learn all 
these things, Ben?" I asked in astonish- 
ment, for it seemed to me that Ben could 
make a story of almost anything that 
crawled, crept, ran, or flew. 

"Well, Harry," he replied, ''most of it 
I picked up. I have always kept my eyes 
open, which is a very necessary thing to 
do if one wants to see all that is going on 
in God's busy world. I see things and 
then I think about them, that is necessary 
too. If a man or a boy will do this he 
can have a first-rate time even in his own 
back door-yard." 



A WARY MOTHER 



Chapter II 

A Wary Mother 

It was fence-mending time in the coun- 
try, and Ben and I were on our way to the 
pasture land to look after a half-mile of 
brush fence that ran through the deep 
pine and hemlock woods. 

It was always a red letter day for me 
when old Ben came to the farm to work 
for my father. 

Fence mending time in New England 
is about the first of May, or perhaps a little 
earlier, if the farmer is forehanded; so, 
you see it was just the time of year to see 
things in the deep woods, if one had the 
eyes to see them. 

All the world seemed joyous this glori- 
ous May morning, and it made me glad 
just to hear the pleasant sounds about me. 

57 



58 The Boy Woodcrafter 

The young stock were lowing, and the 
httle lambs were frisking and bleating. 
The pigeons were cooing, and the rooster 
was crowing as though he would split his 
throat, but his real object was to crow so 
loud that his rival could hear him a 
quarter of a mile away. 

The birds were all busy flying to and 
fro with the most important air, as it was 
nest building time. 

Really there was some excuse for their 
seeming importance. Most of the human 
family build a new house once in a life- 
time, but many of the birds build a new 
one each spring. 

Just as old Ben and I got over the 
stone wall in the pasture, we heard a 
cock partridge drumming, which is always 
an interesting sound in the spring, for 
then it means something. 

"I know that old fellow," said Ben. 
*'His drumming log isn't very far from 
the fence; perhaps we will get a glimpse 



A Wary Mother 59 

of him. He is a very old cock and I have 
seen him drumming several times. I 
know he is old because the feathers on his 
legs grow down very low. In fact, he 
almost looks as though he had on panta- 
lets and you never see any but an old bird 
with feathers like that." 

When we got within about ten rods of 
the drumming log we crept forward care- 
fully, Ben leading the way and only go- 
ing forward while the cock was drumming 
and keeping perfectly still when he 
stopped. 

This is the only way in which one can 
get very close to a drumming cock, as 
they seem to stop and listen between acts, 
to see that all is well. 

Finally, we got up very close to the log, 
within fifty feet perhaps, when Ben sud- 
denly motioned to me to come forward. 
We always spoke in signs in the woods, 
just as the Indians do; this does not dis- 
turb the creature watched. 



6o The Boy Woodcrafter 

I crept forward as lightly as a cat and 
peered down between two tree trunks in 
the direction that Ben indicated with his 
finger. 

The log was in a rather open spot and 
to my great surprise I saw two cock par- 
tridges standing upon it, one at either end, 
with their heads down and facing each 
other in the most belligerent attitude. 

Their feathers were all bristled up and 
they looked about twice their ordinary 
size. 

Presently the old cock, with the feath- 
ers low down on his legs, sprang at his 
antagonist and buffeted him off the log. 
The quarrel was evidently over the log; 
or, rather, the female partridge whose ad- 
miration and love was won by the cock 
who drummed here, so there was really a 
good deal at stake. 

The younger cock did not take the buf- 
fet that sent him to the ground kindly, 
for he at once sprang back and dealt the 



A Wary Mother 6i 

old cock such a blow with beak and wings, 
that the real owner of the log was dis- 
lodged from his perch. 

This was the signal for a battle royal. 
Such a battle as makes the fighting of the 
ordinary barnyard fowl seem tame 
enough. The partridge is much quicker 
and stronger for its size than any domestic 
fowl. Where the slower domestic fowl 
would strike once these lightning-like 
birds struck twice and the buffet of their 
wings sounded like the Whipping of a 
carpet. 

Up and down they went, sometimes 
fighting on the log and sometimes on the 
ground. Sometimes meeting on the 
ground and sometimes in mid-air, as 
towards the latter part of the battle each 
tried to pull feathers from his rival's 
breast. 

Flash, flash, slap, slap, went their 
wings. 

All through the fight the older cock 



62 The Boy Woodcrafter 

seemed to have the better of it. Once he 
bowled his rival over and we thought he 
was vanquished, but the youngster was 
game and he soon went back to the fight. 

The female partridge, sitting some- 
where near the log, was evidently to his 
liking. Perhaps the old cock had gotten 
his sweetheart away from him, certainly 
he battled bravely. 

At last his powerful rival dealt him a 
terrible blow that left him motionless un- 
der the bushes and the old cock ran to him 
and began pecking at his head. 

^'Here, stop, you'll kill him,'' shouted 
Ben, starting to the assistance of the van- 
quished cock. 

At the sound of his voice the victorious 
cock rose in air with a roar of wings and 
went sailing down the aisles of the May 
woods with the speed of an express 
train. 

We went to where the apparently life- 
less partridge lay, and Ben picked him 



A Wary Mother 63 

up. He did not even flutter and to my 
untutored mind he was stone dead, 

"Guess he won't fight any more, Ben," 
I said, feeHng bad for the poor bird. 

"His heart still flutters," replied Ben. 
"We'll take him down to the brook and 
sprinkle a little water on him, and I guess 
he will be as good as new, but it will rather 
astonish him when he comes to, to see 
what company he is keeping." 

So we took the apparently lifeless bird 
to the spring and Ben sprinkled his head 
with water and then laid him on the grass 
to see what would happen. 

After a few minutes he fluttered feebly 
and then stood up. His eyes looked 
dazed and he did not seem really to know 
just where he was; then a furtive look 
came into them and he squatted low on the 
ground and watched us intently. 

Suddenly there was a roar of wings 
just over my head that made me duck 
and clutch the top of my head with both 



64 The Boy Woodcrafter 

hands. I looked on the ground and my 
cock partridge was gone. 

"Where is he, Ben?" I asked. 

''There," replied Ben with a grin, ''and 
pretty lively for a dead bird, too." 

I looked where Ben indicated, and saw 
the cock sailing away, already nearly out 
of sight in the distant cover. 

"I guess he has had all he will want of 
old feather-legs," said Ben, with a chuckle. 
"He ought to have known better. Did 
you notice his markings, Harry? He was 
a beautiful bird, with copper-colored 
markings and a reddish ruff. We don't 
see partridges marked like him often in 
these parts." 

"There'll be a nest somewhere near that 
drumming log. We'll keep our eyes open 
and see if we can find it. The partridge's 
drumming is a part of his courtship and 
early married life. One can usually find 
the nest within five or ten rods of the log. 
The partridge drums for his mate, just 



A Wary Mother 65 

as the woodpecker does, hut the female 
partridge does not answer as does the fe- 
male woodpecker. Mrs. Partridge is 
more modest than that. Now I guess we 
had better attend to our fence mending." 

The following day we searched for the 
nest, but at first were unsuccessful in find- 
ing it. 

"You see/' said Ben, when we had about 
given up the search, "the female partridge 
will lie very close when she is on the nest, 
and you have nearly to run over her be- 
fore she flies; she hates to disclose the 
precious spot. 

''Sometimes it is in a brush heap, and 
sometimes under the edge of an old log, 
but it is always hidden wonderfully well. 
Mrs. Partridge does not want the red 
squirrel to find it and eat her eggs. It 
would be still worse to have the weasel 
find the nest. Now the top of that old 
fallen spruce would be a likely place ; try 
it, Harry." 



66 The Boy Woodcrafter 

I went to the spruce top and peered in 
but could see nothing ; then I struck with 
my axe helve, and the female partridge 
ran quickly from the underbrush, and 
flew away into the deep woods. 

"There, what did I tell you?" exclaimed 
Ben exultantly. "Now let's see what we 
can find." 

We poked away the thick branches and 
found the nest, with eight eggs in it. 

"She hasn't got done laying yet/' said 
Ben. "She will have anywhere from ten 
to fifteen eggs when she has finished." 

"Ben," I said, all excitement, "I have 
got a plan; let's wait until she has set upon 
the eggs for a while and when they are 
almost ready to hatch let's put my bantam 
on the eggs and let her finish hatching 
them, and see if the partridge chicks won't 
claim her for their mother and we will 
have a brood of young partridges to 



raise." 



"How shall we keep Mrs. Partridge 



A Wary Mother 67 

from pounding the hfe out of Seebright 
when we are gone?" asked Ben. ''It 
won't do to move the eggs." 

''We can stake down some wire netting 
over the nest and make it tight enough 
so not even a weasel could get in." 

"Quite a plan, Harry, quite a plan,^' 
rephed Ben. "I believe I will try it. I'd 
be curious to see how it would work my- 
self/' 

About three weeks later one evening at 
dusk old Ben and I might have been seen 
hurrying to the woods. I had Seebright 
under my coat and she was clucking and 
scolding away vigorously. Ben was car- 
rying a large roll of fine wire netting and 
some stakes that he had made for the pur- 
pose. 

"It's a mean trick," he said as we 
climbed over the wall, "but I am mighty 
curious to see how it will come out." 

Mrs. Partridge was very loath to leave 
her nest, for she knew as well as we did 



68 The Boy Woodcrafter 

that it was nearly time for her eggs to 
hatch. So she quitted and fluttered about 
for a time, trying every stratagem known 
to mother partridges to get us to chase her 
away from the vicinity of her precious 
nest. Finally she flew away and we 
showed Seebright the nest with twelve 
warm eggs in it. 

The little bantam seemed delighted with 
our discovery, and she settled down upon 
the eggs just as though it had been her 
own nest and not that of her wild kin- 
dred. 

Ben and I then staked the netting down 
carefully about her, making a fine netting 
coup ; not even a weasel could have gotten 
her when we had finished. 

We then put in some corn and a dish of 
water and left her to finish hatching the 
young partridges. 

The following afternoon we went to the 
woods to see how Seebright was getting 
along. We had barely entered the forest 



A Wary Mother 69 

and were still quite a distance from the 
nest when we heard the quick clucking 
and cries of ''quit, quit," that the mother 
partridge always uses when she is trying 
to hide her young. 

''Quick, Harry, quick," cried Ben, and 
we hurried forward. We were just in 
time to see a bevy of tiny partridges scur- 
rying in every direction, while the mother 
was fluttering about upon the ground in 
great agony. I sprang forward to catch 
her, but she slipped from my grasp. 
Then I remembered something that had 
happened once before when Ben and I dis- 
covered a brood of partridge chicks, and 
did not try further to catch her. Pres- 
ently she flew away and I turned to see 
what Ben was doing. 

He was sitting on a log laughing and I 
could see that he was immensely pleased 
about something. 

I did not think that he was laughing at 
my trying to catch the lame mother par- 



70 The Boy Woodcrafter 

tridge, for I had only been fooled for a 
minute. 

"Well, well, Harry, that old par- 
tridge has completely whipped us at our 
own game. Never heard of anything 
quite so slick in my whole life." 

"I know she has hidden all her chicks 
and gotten away herself," I answered, 
''but what of that; let's go and see how 
Seebright and the eggs are coming on." 

''Seebright and the eggs!" exclaimed 
Ben chuckling. ''She hasn't any eggs. 
These are her eggs hiding here in the 
brake." 

I opened my mouth wide with aston- 
ishment. 

"Why, Ben, you don't mean that the 
eggs have hatched and our partridge 
chicks are gone, do you?" 

"Just so," replied my companion. "I 
know it just as well as though I had 
looked under Seebright. Mrs. Partridge 
has beaten us at our own game. When 



A Wary Mother 71 

she found that another was sitting pn her 
eggs she was probably mighty put out, 
but finding she could do nothing, she just 
hung about to see how it would all end. 
Maybe she had a plan in her wise head. 
I can't just say as to that. You see the 
eggs were probably further along than 
we imagined and they hatched last night. 
When they were all hatched, Mrs. Par- 
tridge coolly called the chicks away from 
Seebright through the meshes of the wire- 
netting and walked off with the whole 
brood, without as much as saying 'Thank 
you for your trouble, Seebright.' " 

It was all just as Ben had supposed. 
We found the nest empty, and Seebright 
bristling and clucking under the netting, 
as mad as the proverbial wet hen. 

I took her out and put her under my 
coat, but she would not be comforted. 
She considered that we had played a mean 
trick on her and she pecked savagely at 
me. 



72 The Boy Woodcrafter 

Ben rolled up the netting and we 
trudged homeward, my companion phi- 
losophizing as we went. He was greatly 
pleased at the turn of affairs, but I was 
terribly disappointed, for I had planned 
an elaborate partridge farm from which I 
would reap great riches. 

^'I tell you what, Harry, there isn't 
much use trying to get ahead of nature 
and her wild creatures. If you do get one 
of them in a trap or pitfall, they are so 
helpless and scornful of you that it takes 
all the fun out of the victory. 

"But usually they get the best of us 
just as Mrs. Partridge did. The par- 
tridge is a fine, self-reliant bird. The 
chicks will run and almost fly before their 
feathers fairly get dry. In twenty-four 
hours they are hunting for their own liv- 
ing. What their mother don't know 
about bringing up chicks isn't worth 
knowing. She gives them their dust bath 
and their rotten wood bath, and keeps 



A Wary Mother 73 

them free from nits and hce. She knows 
what is good for the grub in the head and 
for all the ailments that chicks are heir to. 
She varies their diet with berries, bugs, 
insects, grasshoppers, crickets and lots of 
other dainties, and when they need physic 
she knows where the berries that they 
want grow. 

*'She covers them with her wings when 
they are chicks and when they are partly 
grown she teaches them her store of par- 
tridge wisdom, that they may take care of 
themselves when the brood breaks up. 
They learn partly from precept and partly 
from imitation, just as all the young 
things in the wilderness do. 

^'Night after night they huddle close to- 
gether, each greeting the last comer as 
they gather, with soft loving clucks and 
cheets. The vigilant mother shields them 
from the hawk, the owl, the fox, the 
weasel and the snare. 

"'Perhaps it is the hunter that finally 



74 The Boy Woodcrafter 

breaks up this happy family, or perhaps 
it is the autumn madness that always at- 
tacks the young birds in November. Fi- 
nally they all go their several ways and 
each fights the battle of existence for him- 
self. 

''Here we are, Harry, at your gate. 
Hope those partridge chicks of yours 
won't all turn out cocks, because I would 
like a setting of eggs myself next Spring. 
Good-night." 



A LIVELY BEE HUNT 



Chapter III 

A Lively Bee Hunt 

One Saturday afternoon in June about 
two months after our talk about bees, old 
Ben came into the yard wearing a most 
ridiculous-looking thing on his head. 

It was about as large as a good-sized 
water pail, and came down over his head 
and rested on his shoulders. It was made 
from a framework of wire, covered with 
mosquito netting. The whole protected 
the face entirely, but from what, I did not 
just know. 

^'Why, Ben, what kind of a thing do 
you call that?" I asked. "Looks as 
though you had a giant's hat on and it 
was about twice too large for you." 

"That's a bee-veil," replied Ben, "and 

/ 77 



78 The Boy Woodcrafter 

I have brought along one for you ; I made 
it this morning. Let's see how it fits/' 

So I took oif my hat and slipped the 
queerly-shaped thing over my head, until 
it rested on my shoulders just as Ben's 
did. It was a most interesting headgear, 
and I was delighted with it. 

^'What is it for, Ben," I asked; "to 
keep out diseases?" I had read so much 
about microbes that this use for the great 
hat at once suggested itself to me. 

Ben laughed. "It keeps off something 
that will make some people about as sick 
as microbes, but that never bothered me 
much. It is to keep off bees. We are 
going bee-hunting, Harry, and so I have 
brought along these bee-veils. Although 
we may not have any use for them, I 
thought it would be well for us to have 
them along." 

I was all excitement to go, and we soon 
set off across the fields, Ben leading the 



A Lively Bee Hunt 79 

way as usual. Besides the bee-veils Ben 
carried a small box with a slide cover, 
which could be opened readily. 

Inside the box was some honey, and 
Ben explained to me that this was to decoy 
the bees into the box, where they would 
load up with honey. When released they 
would at once set off for their tree in a 
hee-line, to store the honey. 

I was the first to discover a bee, and 
pointed it out to Ben with great excite- 
ment. 

'Tooh, Harry, that's only a drone," 
said the old man contemptuously. "He 
wouldn't be any better than a fly. He 
would just eat up our honey and then fly 
away without as much as saying ^thank 
you.' He wouldn't go back to the tree, 
but would go dawdling about anywhere 
he happened to like. Drones aren't any 
use in a bee hunt. You can tell them by 
the deep booming sound of their wings. 



8o The Boy Woodcrafter 

They fly much more heavily than the 
workers. They are also slightly larger. 
Ah, here comes a worker." 

Old Ben drew the slide of his small box 
and stood perfectly still, while the honey- 
bee hummed about our heads. ''She's 
smelled it; they have got great noses," 
he explained. 'Tt is by scent that the 
guards at the door of each hive tell 
whether a bee belongs to their hive or not 
and decide whether they will let her in. 
Imagine you and me having to tell all our 
relations by the sense of smell!" 

After hunting about for a few seconds, 
the bee entered our box and Ben shut the 
slide and left her to take her fill. 

''She'll be ready to make a bee-line for 
home in a few minutes," he said. "It is 
mighty queer how all these little creatures 
know the way home. The homing pig- 
eon's instinct is wonderful. After they 
have been trained these birds will fly hun- 
dreds and even a thousand miles home, 



A Lively Bee Hunt 81 

bringing a message to some beleaguered 
fort, or from some starving villagers in 
a dreary, desolate land. The homing 
pigeons are most useful creatures in time 
of war. They have been used even since 
Noah let the dove go from the ark.'* 

I smiled and old Ben continued: 

"Harry, think of this. Sometimes they 
will take one of these little birds hundreds 
of miles out to sea on a ship, and then toss 
it up into the air to seek its home. 

"All about in every direction, as far as 
the eye can reach, is nothing but the roll- 
ing sea, endless and terrible. If the poor 
pigeon did not fly in the right direction, 
it might have to fly and fly, on and on, im- 
til it dropped exhausted into the sea. 

"But the pigeon has a God-given in- 
stinct, that is better than man's compass. 
Some pigeon breeders say that this in- 
stitict is located in the large bunches about 
the ears, for the best homing pigeons are 
the breeds with the largest bunches. 



82 The Boy Woodcrafter 

"Well, that pigeon set adrift above old 
ocean don't need any landmarks. He 
just circles about two or three times un- 
til something inside him tells him which 
way to point his bill and then he starts, 
straight as an arrow he goes, and never 
once turns to right or left until he drops 
into the home-cote." 

While Ben had been talking he had 
released the captive bee, which had flown 
home. 

When she returned she brought three 
more bees with her, all of whom we made 
captive. 

'T guess we have got bees enough by 
this time and some of them ought to be 
pretty well loaded up. I'll let out one. 
Now get your eye on it when it leaves 
the box and when you see what direction 
it is going just leg it and chase it clean 
home." 

If there was any twinkle in Ben's eye 
when he said these words I did not notice 



A Lively Bee Hunt 83 

it. So when the bee, laden with sweets, 
for which it had not labored, came forth, 
circled about for a few seconds and then 
started across the fields in a line straight 
as a telephone wire, I started after it at 
my best pace. 

''Leg it, leg it, Harry," shouted my 
companion, ''I am afraid she is going to 
get away from you." 

I doubled my efforts, but in vain, for 
the speck in the air above me grew smaller 
and smaller and just as I lost it I heard 
Ben shout, ''look out," but his cry came 
too late. 

Without the slightest warning I 
plunged head first into the meadow 
ditch. 

My bee-veil was jammed down on to 
my head and crushed out of shape, and I 
was covered with mud and water. 

"Too bad, Harry, too bad," said Ben, 
helping me out a minute later. "I guess 
you're not hurt much. I shouted for you 



84 The Boy Woodcrafter 

to look out, but you was so hard after that 
bee that you didn't hear me. 

^'That is the trouble with chasing bees 
pell-mell crosslots. You want to be cross- 
eyed, and have one eye look down, and the 
other up. If you keep your eyes on the 
bee, you go into a hole, and if you look 
down you lose your bee. It's real incon- 
siderate of bees not to travel the highways 
when they start for home. 

^'Now we will follow along in the direc- 
tion that this bee took for thirty or forty 
rods, and then we will let out another and 
that one will continue the trail for us. 
You see it is a kind of relay race." 

When we let out the second bee I let 
Ben lead off in the chase after it, while I 
followed carefully behind. 

As much as I loved Ben I was rather in 
hopes that he would fall into a ditch, or 
trip on a stick so that I could laugh, but he 
did not. 

I do not know how he managed it. 



A Lively Bee Hunt 85 

but he always seemed to find the smooth 
places. 

This time we followed the bee much 
farther than we did the first, but it was 
finally lost. 

"There isn't much use of you and me 
trying to make sixty miles an hour, 
Harry," said Ben at the end of a longer 
chase than usual, after which we both 
stood panting. 

"That is about what a bee makes when 
she is lining it out for home. Last year 
they raced some bees with carrier pigeons, 
and the bees came in ahead. They sprin- 
kled dust on their wings so they could be 
sure that it was the same bees that won 
out." 

The eight or ten bees that we had cap- 
tured took us about a mile and near to the 
deep woods. 

The last one that we let out flew back 
in just the opposite direction from that 
which the other bees had taken. 



86 The Boy Woodcrafter 

"We have gone past the tree," said 
Ben, "and it can't be a great way oif ." 

Ben again opened the box containing 
honey, and we sat down upon a knoll to 
wait for developments. 

In the course of a minute or two a bee 
came for the sweet which she had evidentljr 
smelled. 

When she had eaten her fill she did not 
circle about as the bees had done when we 
first started out, but made a straight line 
for the woods. 

Ben did not chase her but sat still and 
waited for another. Soon it came, and 
another and another, until a dozen had 
filled themselves at the box. 

"Do you see that old broken-topped 
maple at the edge of the woods?" asked 
Ben, pointing out the tree in question. 

"Well, that is the bee-tree. I have had 
my eye on it for some time, and they all 
fly for it as straight as a string. 

"Here comes another. Now we will 



A Lively Bee Hunt 87 

keep this one and see what she will tell 



us." 



So we made a captive of the bee and 
then went up close to the maple stub. 
Finally Ben let the prisoner go, and it 
flew straight to the maple and disap- 
peared inside through a deep crack in the 
trunk. 

"That settles it/' said Ben, "this is our 
bee-tree. 

"Now you gather a lot of twigs and dry 
sticks and we will see what virtue there is 
in a little smoke. Long before bees ever 
had reason to fear man they feared smoke. 
It was the forest fires of pre-historic times 
that taught the bee fear of smoke. Smoke 
seems to paralyze and stupefy the swarm, 
and a few whifFs are worth a good deal 
when you are after honey.'' 

So I gathered a large pile of fagots, 
and we soon had a bright blaze going. 
Then Ben put on rotten wood and grass 
to made it smudge, and we soon had a 



88 The Boy Woodcrafter 

great column of smoke pouring into the 
tree. 

At first the bees came out in a black, 
angry cloud, and I fled to a safe distance, 
but Ben did not seem to mind them. 
Finally the smoke drove them all into 
the tree, and Ben began to cut it down. 

The outer shell of the old stub was very 
hard and it seemed to me that Ben never 
would get it down. At last, without the 
slightest warning, it fell with a mighty 
crash, breaking open at the crack where 
we had seen the bees enter. 

I never would have believed that such 
small creatures as bees could have made 
such a roaring with their wings as that 
swarm made when it poured forth in a 
black cloud, to avenge itself upon the de- 
stroyers of its home. 

In an instant the air about us was black 
with them. 

I thrust my hands into my pockets to 
protect them and ran pell-mell into a thick 



A Lively Bee Hunt 89 

growth of scrub hemlock which was near 
at hand. 

My bee-veil protected my face and neck 
nicely, but some of the sharp bayonets of 
this infuriated army pricked the skin on 
my wrists, and one went up my pants leg 
on a voyage of discovery. 

I yelled with pain and fought them des- 
perately. 

I was lucky enough to get off with four 
or five stings, but these made my wrists 
swell badly. 

When the bees at last left me, and I 
peeped out of the bushes to see how it 
fared with old Ben, I saw, to my great 
astonishment, that he was sitting on one 
end of the fallen log, with a swarm of bees 
about him, but apparently quite uncon- 
cerned. 

''Run, Ben," I cried, ^'y^u will be stung 
to death." 

"They won't hurt me. I have handled 
the little critters before. I am better pro- 



go The Boy Woodcrafter 

tected than you, for I have on a pair of 
gloves that protect my wrists. I meant 
to have told you to go farther back when 
the tree fell, but it got ahead of me. 

"We'll put some mud on those stings 
of yours and it will soon cure them. That 
is the remedy all the wild creatures use. 
But we are well paid for our pains. 
There is a hundred pounds of honey in this 
tree if there is an ounce." 

When the roaring of the angry swarm 
had partially died down, I went nearer to 
see the honey. 

It was a most beautiful sight. Al- 
though the comb had been considerably 
broken in the fall, yet it still kept many 
of its fantastic shapes. 

Running up and down in the middle of 
the cavity was a solid pillar of comb, eight 
or nine inches in diameter, and that was 
fastened to the inside of the cavity every 
foot or so, by smaller braces of comb, 
filled with delicious honey. 



A Lively Bee Hunt 91 

Ben said these braces were put in to 
steady the main column, and keep it from 
falHng. 

We took out two large milk pails full 
of the delicious sweet and left as much 
more in the tree. 

The following day we came back and 
got the rest, but the swarm, which we also 
intended to capture, had disappeared. 

*^They didn't want to trust themselves 
to our mercies any longer," said Ben. 
*'They will find another hollow tree, and 
before the frost has closed the late golden- 
rod and the purple asters, they will have 
sweet enough stored up, to carry them 
through the cold weather. If we had 
brought their house down about their 
heads a month or two later, they would 
probably have all perished. 

*'I always feel as mean as dirt when I 
take away the honey that the poor bee has 
gathered drop by drop, bringing some of 
it three miles perhaps. 



92 The Boy Woodcrafter 

'Tf the bee labored so hard, it seems as 
though she ought to have it. But man 
makes all earth's creatures work for him, 
and sometimes he is not even grateful." 



THE SPECKLED HEIFER'S 
CALF 



Chapter IV 

The Speckled Heifer's Calf 

1 HE speckled heifer was my very own, 
and of course a wonderful cow. She had 
been mine ever since she was a frisky 
spotted calf, looking as much like a fawn 
as a bossy. 

I had taught her to drink milk from a 
bucket and had tethered her out all the 
first summer in the backyard. In fact, 
she was a spoiled and petted calf, and that 
was probably why she hid her own first 
calf when it was born. 

This was a great blow to me, as I had 
hoped that the new calf would mate one 
that I already had and make a pair of 
steers, but the ways of Providence are be- 
yond finding out. 

We knew well enough that the speckled 

95 



96 The Boy Woodcrafter 

heifer had a calf somewhere in the great 
pasture, but, where, was the question. 
The heifer's bag was large, and her udders 
were wet each morning when we found 
her quietly feeding, as though her 
thoughts were upon anything but calves. 

I spent several days watching and spy- 
ing upon her, but with no success. As 
long as I was in sight she would eat grass 
or lie in the shade and chew her cud, but 
as soon as I got interested in a bird's 
nest, or a berry patch she was gone, and I 
would see no more of her that day. We 
tried taking a dog into the pasture in 
hopes of frightening her into fleeing to 
her bossy, but the experiment was a fail- 
ure. 

The sight of the dog seemed to drive 
the young cow almost frantic and to fill 
her with blind, unreasonable rage. She 
charged the poor dog, who was innocent 
of any evil towards her, again and again, 
until at last the bewildered canine stuck 



The Speckled Heifer's Calf 97 

his tail between his legs and ran out of 
the pasture. Then she turned upon Ben 
and me. 

Ben took refuge in a thicket, so she 
left him, and came for me. At first I 
thought I was not afraid of the speckled 
heifer ; was she not my own bossy and had 
I not petted her ever since the day she 
was born? I called ''Bossy, Bossy," in 
my most persuasive tones, but she came 
at me like a mad creature, forcing me to 
shin up a small tree with the dexterity of 
a monkey. 

When I had reached a safe limb I 
looked for Ben, and discovered him peep- 
ing out of the thicket, and laughing. 

"Harry," he called, ''that heifer has gone 
stark mad for the moment and you and I 
had better make ourselves scarce. She 
will be all right again when she has had 
time to cool off. Mother love is a queer 
instinct." 

The most dangerous animal in the 



98 The Boy Woodcrafter 

world is an enraged female who thinks 
her young are threatened. When the 
speckled heifer had gone away to feed in 
a different part of the pasture, Ben and 
I slunk away just as the poor dog had 
done, and left her to chew the cud of 
reflection. 

The following morning when we visited 
the pasture a wonderful change had come 
over the heifer. She stood at the hars 
bellowing and moaning pitifully. Her 
eyes were large and full of pain, her muz- 
zle was covered with foam, and her sides 
were wet with sweat. In addition to this, 
there were savage scratches upon her back 
and shoulders and she was trembling as 
though with great fear. 

When she saw us coming she redoubled 
her lowing, and started off* across the pas- 
ture at a brisk trot. 

''Something is up," said Ben. "She is 
eager enough to show us where the calf is 



The Speckled Heifer's Calf 99 

now, but in my opinion it won't do any 
good, for we will find it dead." 

My grief and astonishment at this an- 
nouncement were too great for words, so 
I trotted along silently behind Ben, hop- 
ing against hope, that he would be mis- 
taken for once. 

There was no sham or deceit about the 
speckled heifer to-day and we had to go 
at a brisk trot to keep up with her. She 
occasionally looked back to see if we were 
following, and seemed rather afraid that 
we would turn back. 

She led us straight to the deep woods 
and in and out, among the thickets until 
we came to a thick clump of spruces. 
These trees stood so close together that 
their spreading tops kept out the sun- 
light quite effectively and a kind of twi- 
light or gloom always reigned beneath 
them. 

There, in the deepest shadows, as 



100 The Boy Woodcrafter 

though to screen so sad a sight from the 
bright light of day, lay the little bossy for 
which we had searched so long and 
diligently. He was a perfect beauty, as 
nature had designed him, with a sleek, 
glossy coat, generously flecked and dap- 
pled like his mother's, but, as we beheld 
him, he was a pitiful sight. 

His throat was horribly torn as though 
by hungry fangs, his head and neck were 
badly lacerated and he was besmeared with 
his own bright blood, and covered with 
blow-flies. The ground about was tram- 
pled and bloodstained, the ferns and un- 
derbrush were broken and there was every 
evidence of a desperate struggle. 

I was too grief-stricken to speak. Ben 
was carefully noticing all the signs, as 
was his Indian way. When he had ex- 
amined the wounds upon the dead calf 
carefully, and noted all the hoofprints in 
the trampled forest carpet, he fell to ex- 
amining a nearby tree trunk. 



The Speckled Heifer's Calf loi 

"Seems to me this tree trunk looks 
mighty interesting, Harry," he exclaimed. 
"What do you think about it?" 

"Looks just like all the rest of the tree 
trunks," I replied in disgust. It annoyed 
me that Ben should think of such trifling 
things as how tree trunks looked at a time 
like this. 

"Come here, Harry," said he, "and let 
me show you that it does not look just 
like all the other tree trunks." 

I followed Ben's finger carefully from 
point to point, as he showed me where 
the bark had been scratched and torn off. 
At each of these points was a deep scar 
in the bark, that showed the white wood 
beneath. Finally Ben picked two soft 
gray hairs from beneath a sliver of bark, 
and held them up for my inspection. 

"Look like cat hairs," I suggested. 

"Mightily," rephed Ben. "They are 
•eat hairs, and they came out of the coat of 
a wildcat." 



102 The Boy Woodcrafter 

"A wildcat/' I exclaimed in astonish- 
ment, at the same time looking up into the 
branches overhead apprehensively; "where 
in the world did it come from?" 

''Oh, up on the mountain," replied Ben. 
''There have been litters of bobcats raised 
on the mountain oif and on for several 
years, but they don't often hunt so far 
from home. The kittens must be quite 
cats by this time, and so their mother has 
to hunt far and near to satisfy them, 

"It happened last evening, probably, at 
about twilight. The great cats hunt in 
the morning and evening. Sometimes 
they hunt by moonlight, but rarely in 
broad daylight. 

"Mrs. Bobcat probably came prowling 
through the pasture in search of a gray 
rabbit and with no thought of calf. She 
is rather dull colored this time of year, and 
is hardly noticeable among the browns of 
the ferns and the dried up weeds. A bob- 
cat always sneaks along like a gray 



The Speckled Heifer's Calf 103 

shadow. She probably came upon the 
calf in hiding when its mother was feed- 
ing and pounced upon it, without consid- 
ering that there was a mother to reckon 
with. There is where it was lying. 
Here are the hoof prints where the poor 
calf plunged about, probably with the cat 
upon its back tearing at its throat. I 
presume about that time it did some tall 
bleating and Specky appeared on the 
scene. 

"Then Mrs. Bobcat went up this tree. 
I have already shown you the clawprints. 
The cat had a rather close call, too, for 
here is a scar where the heifer's horn has 
ripped the bark off. 

"This attack probably infuriated the cat 
and she revenged herself by dropping on 
the heifer's back. That is how she came to 
be so clawed. Then the heifer lost her 
head and lit out. The bobcat must have 
hopped off when she had ridden a few 
rods, and come back to finish the calf. 



104 The Boy Woodcrafter 

The heifer must have run clear down to 
the bars." 

I opened both my eyes and mouth wide 
with astonishment as Ben unfolded the 
story of this little tragedy. A moment 
before the whole thing had seemed an in- 
scrutable mystery, and here it was before 
our eyes as plain as the page of a printed 
book. 

''You piece things together just like a 
block puzzle/' I said. ''I never could 
have made it out at all, but it comes to 
you just like a story." 

"It all comes with time, Harry," re- 
plied the old man. "'Reading signs is a 
science, just like astronomy, and has to 
be acquired. We'll leave the calf just as 
he is, and to-morrow we will be around 
and have a wildcat hunt." 

"How are you going to manage it, 
Ben?" I asked, for it seemed to me like 
rather dangerous business. To my boy- 
ish fancy the tops of all the trees in the 



The Speckled Heifer's Calf 105 

pasture were already swarming with bob- 
cats, which might drop down upon our 
heads at any moment, 

"Oh, I guess we will manage it all 
right," Ben replied, ''I will borrow a 
fox hound and you can go along with a 
pail of salt. When the dog gets the cat 
good and tired by running her, you can 
creep up and put the salt on her tail. 
Then we can carry her home in a bag." 

Had it not been for the twinkle in Ben's 
eye as he explained his plan, I should 
have thought the program decidedly 
alarming. Even as it was, I fairly lamed 
my neck looking up into the treetops as 
we journeyed home. I could see Ben 
watching me from the corner of his eye 
and trying not to smile. 

The following morning, just when the 
pink and saffron east had begun to glow 
and blush, I was awakened by pebbles be- 
ing tossed against my bed-room window. 
^ *'Come, come, bobcat hunter, get up! 



lo6 The Boy Woodcrafter 

The trail will get cold if we wait too long," 
called a voice below. 

When I joined Ben a few moments 
later on the back porch, I found to my 
great surprise that he was not armed, ex- 
cept with a stout club, while in his other 
hand he carried a small tin pail. 

''Why, Ben, where is old Kentucky?'^ 
I asked, feeling almost afraid to start out 
on this hunting trip without Ben's trusty 
rifle. 

''Oh, she is pretty heavy, and I thought 
I had better leave her at home," drawled 
my companion, "but I have brought along 
your pail of salt. You see I rely mostly 
on you and the salt." 

A cold chill crept down my spine. Did 
Ben really intend to have me go after the 
cat with salt? If so, I would rather be 
excused. 

I peeped into the pail and saw that it 
contained brimstone, instead of salt, and 
so was quite relieved. 



The Speckled Heifer's Calf 107 

The dew was very heavy and the grass 
was full of cobwebs. Ben said it was a 
fine morning for ''trailing." 

We lost no time in getting to the woods, 
but, before letting the hound go, we made 
a complete circle of the spot where the 
dead calf lay, keeping the dog on the 
leash. 

The hound at once discovered the trail 
and by the way he jumped about and 
whined to be let loose, we knew that the 
track was very fresh. 

When we untied the cord from his col- 
lar, the hound went off at a brisk pace, 
while its long drawn owe-e-u-u-wowu-u 
wow-u-u floated pleasantly back to us on 
the fresh morning wind. 

As soon as the hound was fairly off, we 
ran to a commanding position about a 
third of the way up the mountain. 

For about five minutes the hound wound 
in and out through the woods, then started 
for the mountain at a lively clip. To my 



lo8 The Boy Woodcrafter 

great astonishment the dog ran by within 
a few rods of us, and I hardly dared to 
breathe as the chase drew near. I fully 
expected to see a bobcat, about the size 
of a tiger, break into the open. 

''Why didn't we see it go by, Ben?" I 
whispered. 

'Tt went before we came up," replied 
Ben. "Look there!" 

At the moment he spoke, the long- 
drawn notes of the fox hound changed to 
short sharp barks, interspersed with ex- 
cited yelps. 

I looked in the direction indicated and 
saw a large gray animal, with a short tail 
and a whiskery visage, spring lightly upon 
the trunk of a tree that had been partly 
blown down, but which still stood at an 
angle lodged against its fellows. 

The cat scratched up the trunk for eight 
or ten feet and then, in a frenzy of rage 
that fairly made mj^ hair stand on end, be- 
gan tearing the bark from the tree, at the 



The Speckled Heifer's Calf 109 

same time uttering a series of the most 
bloodcurdling screeches and snarls. The 
bark came down in showers, the cat's 
claws flew so rapidly that I could scarcely 
see them, while the screeching seemed to 
my ears like the screaming of a panther. 

^'Let's go home, Ben," I whispered be- 
tween the chattering of my teeth. "She 
might see us. You know we aren't 
armed." 

Ben laughed. '^A bobcat won't fight 
unless she is cornered," he said. ''You 
can go home if you wish to, but you don't 
want to leave me to be eaten alive, do- 
you?" 

I made no reply, though I felt anything 
but comfortable. To tell the truth, at 
that moment, I wished that I was at home 
in the ten acre lot hoeing corn, or almost 
anywhere else than where I was. 

Presently the cat jumped from the tree 
trunk and ran up the mountain side, the 
dog following in hot haste. 



110 The Boy Woodcrafter 

Its long drawn owe-e-w-u had now 
changed to a quick bark varied by excited 
yelps. 

In five minutes more the barking had 
changed to nothing but yelps and Ben 
cried, ''Good, the cat has either treed or 
holed. Come on, Harry." 

I was afraid to go and still more afraid 
to stay behind, so I followed Ben, fairly 
treading on his heels in my anxiety to 
keep as close to my companion as possible. 

We found the hound barking and 
scratching away excitedly at a fair-sized 
hole in a great ledge. 

Ben seemed much pleased at this dis- 
covery, and, for final evidence that the cat 
had holed, he picked a gray hair from the 
edge of the rock and held it up for my 
inspection. 

"Looks just like the one we saw on the 
tree, Harry," he said. ''Now you take the 
pail and scramble into the hole and feed 
the cat some brimstone, while I stay out- 



The Speckled Heifer's Calf in 

side and keep the male bobcat from com- 
ing in and disturbing you." 

''Not much," I said. "I haven't lost 
any bobcat." 

Ben brought a large flat stone and 
placed it so that it would cover the en- 
trance to the den. Then he put the brim- 
stone into the mouth of the den and set 
fire to it, covering the flat stone over with 
his coat, that none of the fumes might 
escape. 

For a minute or two, all was silent in- 
side, but finally we heard a coughing and 
scratching; then the cat made a sudden 
rush for the entrance of the den. 

I was terribly afraid that the stone 
would be pushed aside, but Ben only 
gripped his club and grinned at my alarm. 

"Guess I better let him out, Harry," 
he said at length. 'Tt seems to be stran- 
gling him," and to my horror he raised the 
stone so as to make a small crack. 

Ben had gone mad, but his folly should 



112 The Boy Woodcrafter 

be on his own head. I was not going to 
be food for a bobcat. 

Then Ben let go his hold on the stone 
and it fell flat in front of the hole leaving 
the entrance free. With a yell of terror, 
I started down the mountain side, not stop- 
ping even to choose my footing, feeling 
that to break my neck was better than to 
be clawed to ribbons. 

Presently, I made a misstep and landed 
in a heap at the bottom of a little gully. 
When I picked myself up, I heard Ben 
calling to me. ''Come back, Harry," he 
hallooed. 'Tt's all over. IVe killed the 
bobcat." 

I clambered back but took care to recon- 
noiter at a safe distance. 

It was just as Ben had said. The great 
gray cat lay dead at his feet. My courage 
came back and I joined him and the hound 
at the entrance of the den. 

''How in the world did you kill it, 



The Speckled Heifer's Calf 113 

Ben?" I asked. ''You didn't have any 
gun." 

•'I didn't need any," he rephed. "It 
was so stupefied that it wouldn't have 
known its own grandmother. The brim- 
stone did the business. I simply knocked 
her on the head when she came out." 

It was a fine specimen of the bobcat, 
or bay lynx, as it should really be called. 
Its coat was long and silky, of a grayish 
tone, striped and flecked with light brown. 
There were several brown streaks along 
the back and some tawny patches upon the 
sides. The tail had several dark rings and 
was tipped with black. The animal's 
long, sharp, white claws, sent a shiver 
down my back as I felt them. 

. When we had carried the cat home, Ben 
brought out the spring scales and, tying 
a cord about the bobcat's hind legs, he 
hooked in the scales and swung the splen- 
did specimen clear of the ground. My 



114 The Boy Woodcrafter 

eyes opened wide as the indicator sprung 
down until it registered thirty-six pounds. 
After all, to have such a fine skin as this 
was some compensation for the loss of 
the speckled heifer's calf. 



CAMPING WITH OLD BEN 



Chapter V 

Camping With Old Ben 

When old Ben told me one August 
day that we would go away into the great 
woods for a week's camping out, and that 
we would start within a day or two, my 
joy knew no bounds. 

I rolled upon the ground and shouted, 
stood upon my head and turned hand- 
springs. In fact, my joy was so great 
that I could not find any kind of antic 
that quite expressed it. 

This had long been a dream of delight 
which I had thought almost too good ever 
to come true, but here it was about to be 
realized. "Which would you rather live 
in, a tent or a shack?" asked Ben, when I 
had become sufficiently calmed to consider 
details. 

117 



Ii8 The Boy Woodcrafter 

^'A tent would be better in a rain storm, 
but a shack is mighty clean and pleasant, 
and it smells so woodsy that I like it 
myself." 

''Wouldn't we come home, Ben,'' I 
asked, "if it rained very hard?" The idea 
of withstanding a soaking rain storm of a 
day or two had never occurred to me until 
that moment. To my notion, camping 
out was all sunshine, warmth and sweet 
air. 

"You might, if you want to, but you 
don't think that I would come chasing 
home for a shower, do you? You would 
make a healthy guide, if you are afraid 
of getting your skin wet." 

"Oh, I am not afraid," I replied. "I 
had never thought of stormy weather." 

"Perhaps we had better take a tent and 
make a shack, too," Ben suggested, "then 
we will be fixed for almost any kind of 
weather." 



Camping With Old Ben 119 

The next two days were busy ones for 
us both. We had to lay in a store of pro- 
visions and overhaul the tent, which was 
an old one that Ben had not used for sev- 
eral years. 

I whittled an entire new lot of tent pegs 
and felt quite like an Indian making a 
wigwam. 

The third day after the expedition had 
been proposed by Ben, we loaded our out- 
fit into the express wagon, and father 
drove us to what was^ called the great 
woods. The latter part of the journey 
had to be made through pastures over an 
old wood road and I got out and opened 
the gates or took down the bars between 
the pastures. 

We arrived upon the outskirts of this 
wilderness, as it seemed to me, in the 
afternoon and at once set to work on our 
camp. 

When we had unloaded our camp sup- 



120 The Boy Woodcrafter 

plies, and father and the old express 
wagon had disappeared between the tree 
trunks, Ben looked critically about us. 

''This isn't just an ideal camping spot," 
he said, ''but I guess it will have to do for 
to-night. We haven't much time to look 
about. We will just camp here to-night, 
and to-morrow we can look around a bit. 
I'll put up the tent, and you go and look 
for a spring. 

"I usually find the spring first and then 
pitch the tent near it, but I haven't time 
to look for one to-night so we will trust 
to luck. 

"See the top of those black ashes yon- 
der, you look over there. It is low 
ground, and black ash always grows in a 
moist spot, so I presume you will find 
either a small brook or a spring some- 
where near.'' 

It was only a few rods away, almost 
within sight of our prospective camp, so 
I hurried off, glad that Ben had thought 



Camping With Old Ben 121 

me capable of doing an important part of 
getting our first camp ready. 

The black ashes proved to be on moist 
land, as Ben had predicted, but there was 
no well defined waterway, although the 
ground was soft and swampy. 

I circled about, quartering like a fox 
hound, as Ben had taught me to do when 
looking for anything in the woods, but 
no spring could I find. I was loath to 
give up and be beaten in this my first 
attempt in helping, but finally was obliged 
to turn back without having discovered 
water. 

I had gone but a few rods from camp, 
or so it seemed to me, and was quite sure 
of the direction back to my starting point. 

I hastened, for it was getting towards 
twilight, and long black shadows were 
already creeping through the woods. 
Somehow it seemed mighty lonesome 
away from Ben although I would not 
have admitted it for the w^orld. 



122 The Boy Woodcrafter 

To my great astonishment I found that 
camp did not lie just beyond some spruces 
as I had thought, so I turned back to my 
starting point and tried another direction, 
but that seemed to lead me still deeper 
into the woods. 

This would never do, I must be more 
careful, so I went back to a clump of 
birches that I had just started from, to 
try it over again, but to my dismay they 
were not the same birches, but a new 
clump. 

How long and black the shadows were. 
How still it was; I must hurry. So I 
started on a run in a new direction which 
I felt sure would bring me to camp. 

As soon as I began running, my alarm, 
which had not been great up to that point, 
increased tenfold, and I ran hither and 
thither, like a deer, taking almost no note 
of landmarks, as Ben had taught me to do, 
but trying to cover as many rods as pos- 
sible in the shortest time. I scratched my 



Camping With Old Ben 123 

hands and face in the underbrush and 
twice went head over heels upon the 
ground, but that was nothing. 

In about thirty seconds I was back 
again at the clump of birches, so I tried 
another direction, but came right back to 
the same place. 

It was terrible; did all the paths in the 
woods lead right back to this spot? Then 
it dawned upon me, I was running about 
in a circle. 

I had read of such cases in books. Of 
how men became lost in the woods and 
ran around and around in a circle until 
they dropped of fatigue. Suddenly the 
sweet green woods with its lengthening 
shadows seemed to stretch out in every 
direction for a million miles. I was the 
only living creature in all that vast soli- 
tude unless it was filled with bears, wolves, 
ghosts and hobgoblins. Such a wild ter- 
ror as I have never known before or since 
seized me. My hair stood up, my teeth 



124 The Boy Woodcrafter 

chattered, my heart thumped away at my 
ribs as though it would jump through be- 
tween them; I seemed as small as a sand 
flea in the middle of the desert of Sahara. 
Never, never as long as the world stood, 
would I be able to get out of this hateful 
woods. 

At last the silence and the terror of it 
grew so upon me, that I lifted up my 
voice and yelled like a savage. I did not 
give one shout and then listen to see if 
it was answered but bellowed at the top 
of my lungs, drawing my breath with 
great sobs between the deafening passages 
of my distress. 

"Hello, that you, Harry? " cried a 
cheerful voice that was so near to me that 
I ceased my bellowing instantly. 

Stifling my sobs as best I could and 
wiping the tears from my cheeks with the 
back of my hand, I rushed towards the 
spot from whence came the voice. 

Ben was drawing down the corners of 



Camping With Old Ben 125 

his mouth and trying hard not to laugh, 
''Have you treed a painter, Harry," he 
asked, "or was it a pack of Apaches that 
I just heard?" 

"You needn't laugh at me,'' I blub- 
bered, "I have been lost. How did you 
find me so quick?" 

"I find you, I find you, boy! Why I 
haven't been looking for you. I guess 
you found yourself." 

"Well, how come you away oif here 
when I left you making camp, miles away 
from here?" I asked, feeling sure that I 
had him where he would have to give in. 

Ben very considerately stifled a laugh 
and sneezed instead. Then motioned to 
me to come to him. 

"What do you call that?" he asked 
pointing to the tent which was already 
up, although it had been screened from 
me by some trees. 

"That's the tent," I replied feeling that 
I was being made a fool of, "but you have 



126 The Boy Woodcrafter 

moved it. This isn't the place where we 
were going to pitch it/' 

'The very same/' rephed Ben. 
*'YouVe lost your compass, Harry. You 
have been clear around camp and come 
out on the opposite side from which you 
left, so everything looks different. 

*T heard you coming — sounded like a 
moose, and I was just going to halloo to 
you when you let out that yell. Those 
lungs of yours can't be beaten. 

"When you are in the woods you must 
notice peculiarities in the trees and that 
will keep you from getting lost. An old 
stump, a spreading spruce, an ironwood 
tree, which is not common, a hillock or a 
rock, all these things are the guideboards 
in the woods that tell you the way back 
to camp. 

''But you needn't feel cut up about it, 
Harry. There isn't any danger that you 
will get so lost in this county, that I could 
not hear you screech. Now you may look 



Camping With Old Ben 127 

me up some dead sticks for firewood, if 
you can." 

Ben soon had a bright fire going be- 
tween three stones that he had arranged 
forming three sides of a square. 

"It is always a good plan to place stones 
in that way, Harry," he said, ''so your 
fire won't keep tumbling down as fast 
as it burns. If we were real savages, in- 
stead of make-believes, starting the fire 
would be quite a process, and it might 
take half an hour. We would have to use 
a flint and some tinder, and it would be 
quite a trick." 

I opened a can of salmon and it was 
soon sending out a fine odor, as it sizzled 
in the frying pan. 

"Seems as though I could eat it, frying 
pan and all," I said. Ben laughed. 
"That's the tonic of the woods," he said. 
"It beats any medicine that I ever heard 
of for a poor appetite." 

When Ben had fried some potatoes, and 



128 The Boy Woodcrafter 

made some coffee, our supper was ready. 

We ate it upon a flat rock and I do 
not think that anything that I ever ate 
at home upon a fine table cloth tasted so 
good. 

After supper Ben cut two small hem- 
locks, and dragged them near the tent, and 
we set to work to strip them of all their 
small branches and needles. 

"There isn't anything in the world that 
makes as soft and sweet a bed as hemlock 
needles," explained Ben. ''The odor is a 
sort of sleeping potion, too, it always does 
me good to sleep on either hemlock or 
pine needles." 

When we had a large pile of the 
sweet, springy hemlock plumes, we car- 
ried them into the tent, and Ben showed 
me how to cover the pile with the blanket, 
and then tuck the edges under so that when 
we laid upon it, our bed would not flatten 
out as much as it would otherwise do. 



Camping With Old Ben 129 

Our second blanket we put on top of the 
first one, and Ben called it, ''the spread." 

The bed now being ready, we went out- 
side and piled a lot of wood upon the 
camp fire and sat down by it, to enjoy a 
real camp fire talk, 

"Of course, we don't need the fire to- 
night to keep us warm/' said Ben, ''but 
it looks so cheerful that I love to watch it 
burn and see the pictures come and go. 
Besides it helps to keep off the mosqui- 
toes. 

"A bright fire is good to cook with, but 
a smudge keeps oif mosquitoes. To 
make a smudge, put on some punk, or, 
if you cannot find that, a bunch of green 
grass." 

I pulled a handful of grass and was as- 
tonished to see how quickly a dark wreath 
of smoke was curling up through the tree- 
tops. 

"The Indians always used fires for 



130 The Boy Woodcrafter 

signals," explained Ben, ''and they could 
communicate several miles away by means 
of them. This was their telegraph. 

''What I enjoy about camping out,'' 
continued Ben, "is the wonderful mys- 
terious life all about us. The flowers, the 
trees, the grass, the birds, the squirrels 
and all the four-footed creatures. God 
made the trees to shelter man and to 
rustle their leaves above his head, and it 
is a pity that we have to cut down so many 
of them. Why, Harry, there is more 
wonder to me in an ant-hill, than there is in 
the whole city of New York. The Brook- 
lyn bridge and the tall blocks, and the 
great churches are not nearly as hard for 
man to build, as it is for the ants to do 
some of the things that they do. 

"There is music, too, in the woods. The 
glad trilling of birds, and the joyous chat- 
ter of squirrels. The long roll of the cock 
partridge, and the merry tattoo of the 
woodpecker. Then the wind and the 



Camping With Old Ben 131 

waters are always talking and the leaves 
are telling secrets overhead. 

"There is always a mystery, too, in the 
woods. Something to keep you guessing. 
Was that pitter-patter in the leaves a red 
squirrel, a chipmunk, or just a shy, sweet, 
little wood mouse? How quickly the ear 
learns to distinguish, the steady even trot 
of the fox, and the hop of the rabbit, the 
rustle of a twig that denotes a bird, and 
the bending of the bough that tells you 
where a squirrel has just sprung. 

''The signs, the sights and the sounds 
of the woods are among earth's sweetest 
secrets. 

"Sometimes I think that I would like to 
be the wood nymph and have charge of 
all these furred and feathered creatures 
myself." 

"Who is the wood nymph, Ben?" I 
asked. 

"Oh, just a beautiful young lady who 
lives in the woods, and looks out for all 



132 The Boy Woodcrafter 

the wild things and loves and pities them," 
replied Ben. "Did I ever tell you how 
'twas the squirrel got his brush, Harry?" 

"No," I exclaimed all excitement, 
"please tell me." 

Ben filled his pipe, and lighted it with 
a coal from our camp fire and then began. 

"Well, it was this way. One morning 
the squirrel was sitting upon a limb, chat- 
tering away for dear life, he was having 
the finest time in the world. Nuts were 
thick as spatter on the tree and the sun 
was shining brightly, and the squirrel was 
so glad that he didn't know what to do 
about it, so he just frisked and chattered. 
By and by, along came the wood thrush. 
'Hold on, Mr. Scatterbrains,' cried the 
wood thrush, 'I wonder if you know what 
a noise you are making? Why, if I had 
such a voice as you have got I would never 
let anyone hear me using it. It fairly sets 
my nerves on edge. Why don't you sing 
like this?' Wood Thrush swelled out his 



Camping With Old Ben 133 

breast, and poured forth such a sweet song, 
that the poor squirrel saw at once that 
his voice was very harsh, and discordant. 

" 'There,' said the wood thrush, ending 
up with a fine trill, 'now I would keep 
quiet, if I were you/ 

"Well, the wood thrush soon flew away, 
and the squirrel felt so ashamed that he 
didn't even squeak again that morning. 

"Pa:etty soon, along came Blue Jay and 
he says to Mr. Red Squirrel. 'What a 
rusty old red coat you have got, Mr. Squir- 
rel. If I was you I think I would visit 
the tailor and get a new suit, your old 
one is really quite dull. Why don't you 
have a suit like mine? and Blue Jay 
flashed his bright blue uniform in the sun- 
light. 

"Then Mr. Red Squirrel saw that he not 
only had no voice, but that his coat upon 
which he had prided himself, was quite 
dull compared with that of the blue jay. 

"In those far off times Mr. Red Squir- 



134 The Boy Woodcr after 

rel's tail was not the fine brush that it is 
now, but a smooth tail like that of the rat. 
So he really had nothing to be proud of. 

'^WeU, Mr. Red Squirrel felt so bad 
about it that he finally went to the wood 
nymph. 

'' 'Dear Wood Nymph/ he said, 'I am 
very sad. I have no fine voice like Wood 
Thrush, and I have no gay coat like Blue 
Jay, and they are all making fun of me.' 

" '1 am sorry Red Squirrel,' said the 
wood nymph in such a sweet voice that 
Red Squirrel at once felt better. 'It is 
very impolite of them to put on airs 
about graces that I gave them. I shall 
have to speak to them about it. But you 
are really quite as pretty as they are in 
your way. Why, don't you see, Mr. 
Squirrel, you have four legs, and they 
haven't but two? You are much better 
off in that respect.' 

" 'That is so,' replied Red Squirrel 
rather proudly, and he gave a great jump 



Camping With Old Ben 135 

just to show how nimble his legs were. 
'If I only had a beautiful tail like a pea- 
cock I think I would be perfectly happy.' 

^^ *The peacock's tail would not do for 
you at all/ said the wood nymph, 'but I 
will make yours over and it shall be your 
flag that you can wave defiantly at Wood 
Thrush, and Blue Jay whenever they tell 
you you are not beautiful/ 

"So Mr. Red Squirrel hopped upon the 
beautiful wood nymph's shoulder, and she 
covered his eyes with one hand, while with 
the other she worked upon his tail. 

" 'How long will it take you?' asked 
the squirrel. 

" 'See,' replied the wood nymph, and 
she uncovered his eyes and Mr. Red Squir- 
rel saw that he had the mo^t wonderful 
bushy tail in the woods, that is, for his 
size. 

"Then how he frisked about and chat- 
tered, and all the time he kept his tail 
twitching and waving so all the wood 



136 The Boy Woodcrafter 

folks might see how gay he had become. 
He was so delighted with his new tail that 
he did not even stop to thank the wood 
nymph, but ran away to show it to Wood 
Thrush, and to Blue Jay. 

''When the poor chipmunk saw what 
the wood nymph had done for Red 
Squirrel, he was much dissatisfied with 
his own smooth tail, so he, too, went to the 
wood nymph. 

" 'Dear wood nymph,' cried chippy, 
*my tail is very homely, won't you please 
fix it like Red Squirrel's?' 

''So the kind wood nymph covered 
chippy's eyes with her hand while she made 
his tail more fluffy and beautiful. 

" 'It isn't nearly as large as Red Squir- 
rel's,' said chippy when she had finished. 

" 'Why, you are not half as large as 

Red Squirrel yourself,' replied the wood 
nymph laughing. 'I guess it is large 
enough for your size.' 

"But Chippy was not satisfied, so the 



Camping With Old Ben 137 

wood nymph finally painted his sides with 
several bright stripes, and that is how he 
became little Striped Sides." 

''There is another pretty good story/* 
continued Ben. *'It is about how the 
skunk got his scent. I presume people 
have often wondered. 

''One day, years and years ago, a skunk 
sat down under a juniper bush to think, 
and he quite naturally got to thinking 
about himself. 

" 'What a poor stupid old thing I am,' 
he said. 'I am the most defenseless of all 
the forest folks. I cannot run away from 
my enemies like the rabbit, because my legs 
are short. I cannot bite like the wood- 
chuck because my teeth are not so sharp. 
I cannot go into my shell like the turtle 
when I am threatened because I have no 
shell. I have no nimble wits like the fox. 
If something is not done my kind will be 
exterminated.' 

"When the kind wood nymph saw the 



138 The Boy Woodcrafter 

skunk's sorrowful face, she was troubled, 
for it saddens her to see any; of her crea- 
tures grieve. 

"She pondered long and deeply upon 
the subject, and then a bright smile over- 
spread her face. When the skunk saw the 
smile, he was glad because he knew that 
the good wood nymph had thought of 
something fine for him. 

" ' Mr. Skunk,' said the wood nymph in 
her sweetest tones, 'I am most sorry that 
you were left so defenseless, and I have 
thought of a plan. I will give you this 
wonderful smelling bottle, and whenever 
any of your enemies trouble you, just take 
out the cork.' 

"Mr. Skunk took the magic bottle, and 
hurried away, eager to try it upon some 
one of his enemies. 

"He did not have to wait long, for soon 
Mr. Red Fox came creeping by. 

" 'Ah, here is a snap,' he said. 'My 
breakfast already cooked. I do believe 




M 



R. Fox did not finish his remarks 



Camping With Old Ben 139 

that the skunk is the stupidest, animal 
in—" 

"But Mr. Fox did not finish his remarks 
for just at that point, when the fox was 
about to jump, Mr. Skunk took out the 
stopper from his magic bottle. 

"Mr. Red Fox turned a double summer- 
sault in his haste to leave that part of the 
woods, and he ran away yelping, and 
pawing at his eyes and nose. 

"To this very day Mr. Red Fox always 
takes off his hat when he meets a skunk, 
as do all the other animals in the woods. 

"Camp fire is getting low, Harry, I 
guess we had better turn in." 

We scrambled into the tent, like two 
boys, and threw ourselves upon the luxu- 
riant bed of hemlock. Ben drew the out- 
side blanket over us and tucked it in and 
in fewer minutes than it takes to tell it, 
I myself was standing before the wood 
nymph asking that I might be equipped 
with wings like the eagle. 



FOREST FOOTFALLS 



Chapter VI 

Forest Footfalls 

What glorious days those were when 
Ben and I wandered in the mysterious 
woods searching out its secrets, becoming 
each day better acquainted with the birds 
and squirrels, the rabbits and mice, and 
all the innumerable family of the wood 
folks. 

Little by little I learned to see with 
the eyes of a woodsman. 

To separate the rabbit from the brown 
brake in which he squatted, the bird from 
the leaves in which it sought to screen 
itself, the squirrel from the knot that he 
tried to impersonate. 

^'The only way to see things in the 
woods," said Ben one day as we sat on an 
old log in the leafy green depths, "is to 

143 



144 The Boy Woodcrafter 

sit still and let them come to you. We 
folks with all our cunning are so much 
more stupid than the wild creatures in the 
woods that they always see or hear us 
first, and that is why the forest often 
seems to be deserted when we pass 
through. 

'Terhaps birds have been singing and 
chirping, and squirrels have been chatter- 
ing a moment before, but as soon as the 
clumsy foot of man comes pounding 
through the woods, aU becomes as quiet as 
though uninhabited. 

"A moose, large and clumsy as he 
seems, can travel more quietly in the 
woods than the untrained man. One 
momjent the great bull will be standing 
behind a tree looking out curiously at you 
as you go thrashing through the aisles of 
the forest; the next instant, without the 
slightest sound of a footfall or the snap- 
ping of a twig, he fades away like a gray 
shadow and disappears like a ghost. 



Forest Footfalls 145 

"It would surprise you, Harry, to know 
how many eyes are watching as you go 
through the woods. Most of the wild 
creatures do not flee away in panic, but 
secrete themselves cunningly and watch 
to see what this strange creature, man, is 
doing. 

"The squirrel flattens himself out on a 
branch, and a limb two inches in diameter 
will entirely hide him ; or perhaps he may 
make believe he is a knot upon the tree, 
and he will do it so well that you will 
probably be deceived. 

"The rabbit usually hides in plain sight, 
but you think him a stone or a continua- 
tion of the end of an old log. 

"The owl passes for a bunch of last 
year's leaves or a gnarl on the tree. The 
principal art in hiding in the woods is to 
keep perfectly still and nature has so 
fashioned the coats of the birds and the 
four-footed creatures that they blend 
with the friendly shadows. 



146 The Boy Woodcrafter 

"Go into the woods and sit perfectly 
still for half an hour and see what a 
change will come. 

''Perhaps your first caller is a little 
brown bird who will come fluttering down 
through the boughs to get a better look 
at you. 

''Then the wood mouse will slip slyly 
out of his den at the root of a tree and 
peep curiously. 

"Soon you may hear a pitter-patter in 
the leaves. That is a squirrel ; it may be 
a weasel, but it is more likely to be a squir- 
rel. If the noise is more like a strut than 
a pitter-patter, it is a partridge and it 
may be feeding, looking here and there 
in the ends of rotten logs and stumps for 
grubs. 

"If the sounds are further apart and 
more uneven, it is probably a rabbit. 
The steady trot, trot, trot, of a fox is 
always easy to recognize. 

"It is as easy to recognize these little 



Forest Footfalls 147 

footfalls in the woods, once you have 
learned them, as it is to tell the step of 
your father or mother in your own 
home/' 

''Don't you ever get deceived, Ben?" 
I asked. For to me nearly all the sounds 
in the woods were merely noises, although 
I recognized most of the bird songs and 
their call notes. 

''Oh, yes, even the best ear is deceived 
sometimes," replied Ben, "but you must 
learn in the woods to hear or see a little 
part of the truth and supply the rest." 

"Then you will know that these gray 
and brown streaks that you occasionally 
see flitting across the path, or just glid- 
ing behind some bush are not fancies but 
real living creatures, all eyes, ears and 
noses and quivering with alertness. Then 
every time that a twig snaps, brake rus- 
tles, or a bough bends you will know what 
it means. 

"It is little things and not large ones 



148 The Boy Woodcrafter 

in the woods that tell the wonderful story 
of nature's secret. Anyone can follow 
a track in the new snow, but only the 
trained trailer can follow it upon bare 
ground. 

"The things the trailer sees you would 
pass by as unimportant. It may be a 
broken twig, some moss brushed oif a log, 
a bit of bark from a tree, but these little 
things tell which way the trail leads." 

"Looks to me a good deal like finding 
a needle in a hay mow," I ventured. 

Ben laughed. "It used to seem so to 
me," he said cheerily, "but you see I am 
an old man, and you are only a small 
boy. All things come to him who waits, 
and a boy can learn much by keeping his 
eyes and ears open." 

That evening after supper we piled our 
camp fire high with dry limbs that I had 
gathered for the purpose, and old Ben 
told me camp fire tales until all thoughts 



Forest Footfalls 149 

of sleep left me and I was as wide awake 
as an owl. 

Finally, he turned in and I sat there 
in the cheerful fire-light with my back 
against an old log listening to the pleas- 
ant night sounds and thinking of what 
a wonderful place the forest was, now I 
was learning to love it. 

The great pines, upon the bluff back 
of the camp, sighed mournfully and the 
night winds answered them in low sough- 
ing tones. 

Far away in the woods a fox barked 
his sharp, short bark. The great horned 
owl sounded his hunting cry and then 
listened for the prey to betray its where- 
abouts. A little screech owl whistled 
shrilly and a tree frog took up the same 
strain. The tree frog's song was still 
trembling in my ears when I fell asleep 
beside the camp fire and dreamed a terri- 
ble dream. 



150 The Boy Woodcrafter 

I was a hunter in the African jungles 
and was lying by my camp fire asleep 
when a huge lion began creeping slowly 
upon me, intent upon devouring me or 
carrying me off into the jungle alive. 

I was powerless to move or cry out and 
the lion drew nearer and nearer. 

The horror of the situation caused me 
to wake to what seemed to me quite as 
bad a plight as that in my dream. 

I was not an African lion hunter, that 
was plain, but only a terribly scared small 
boy who had fallen asleep in the woods. 
The camp fire had gone out and there was 
nothing ominous in that, but there was 
another consideration and here was the 
difficulty. 

A mighty animal, probably a bear, was 
standing guard over me. I could see the 
outline of the massive head against the 
sky, the glow of two large yellow eyes, 
and could feel the hot breath of the beast 
upon my face. 



Forest Footfalls 151. 

Then I remembered dozens of horrible 
stories that I had read, of how wild 
creatures stood above sleeping hunters 
until they awoke or moved, when they 
sprang upon them and tore them to 
bits. 

My tongue grew parched and clove to 
the roof of my mouth. My heart beat so 
hard that I knew the bear must hear it, 
and a chill like ice water stole down my 
back. 

Probably I lay like this for five seconds, 
then a stratagem came to me which terror 
helped me put into execution. 

Our camp was on a side hill and the 
entrance of the tent was below me. With 
a sudden motion I rolled over and over 
towards the tent door, and at the same 
time I gave a yell that made the vocal at- 
tempts of the great horned owl seem like 
whispers. 

Over and over I spun like a top until 
I struck fairly upon the bunk, bringing 



1^2 The Boy Woodcr after 

Ben to his feet as though steel springs 
had been under him. 

''Land of Liberty, Harry, what is it, 
night-horse?" That was what Ben called 
nightmare. 

"A bear in camp, a bear,'' I gasped 
with just breath enough left to give the 
information. 

We could hear some large animal tum- 
bling about our dishes, and sniffing hun- 
grily. 

''Don't sound to me exactly like a 
bear," said Ben in his ordinary tone of 
voice. 

''Ben, Ben, keep still," I gasped, "we 
haven't any gun." 

Ben chuckled. "I'm not afraid of 
bears," he said. "This is a good, kind 
bear, Harry." 

"Come here, bear," he continued snap- 
ping his fingers and uttering a low 
whistle. 

A great brute as large as a yearling calf 



Forest Footfalls 153 

came bounding into the tent and with a 
yell of terror I dove into a corner behind 
Ben. 

"Now, Harry, stop screeching and let 
me introduce you to this good, kind bear. 
His name is Ponto, and he wants to kiss 
you. What a long tail he has for a bear!" 

I uncovered my eyes and beheld Ponto, 
a great Newfoundland dog belonging to 
one of our neighbors. 

"You see you will have to study forest 
footfalls a little more, Harry," chuckled 
Ben as he smoothed Ponto's coat; "then 
you will be able to tell a mastodon from 
a field mouse when it comes into camp." 



IN THE HUNTER'S MOON 



Chapter VII 

In the Hunter's Moon 

Of all the seasons of the year that make 
the heart of a boy glad, I know of none 
better than October, the time of the Hunt- 
er's Moon, the season of fulfillment. 

When all the promises of Springtime 
have been redeemed. When all the treas- 
ures of nature are poured into the lap of 
the glad earth and man has but to eat 
drink and be merry. 

Then the corn is stacked in the field, a 
thousand Indian wigwams with golden 
pumpkins gleaming in between. The 
barn is fragrant with the new hay. Gran- 
eries are full to overflowing with all the 
treasures of Ceres, while Pomona's gifts 
hang bright red, yellow, and green, in 
all the loaded orchards. 

157 



1^8 The Boy Woodcrafter 

Even better than these to the mind of 
the boy are the walnut and chestnut 
groves, with hair-raising cHmbs into the 
top of tall trees for the treasure of the 
forest. 

The cranberry bog, too, is bright with 
berries, and here one may not only pick 
berries, but also watch the muskrats 
piling up their houses against the Win- 
ter cold, which will soon be upon 
them. 

The muskrat is particularly fortunate, 
for he not only lives in this queer house, 
but also eats it, for it is partly built of the 
roots that he best likes. 

On these wonderful Autumn nights, 
when the sky was so studded with stars 
that there seemed not room for one more, 
when the air was rich with the smell of the 
ripe corn, and the perfume of ripe fruit, 
when the melon patch alone was an Eden 
to the mind of a boy, old Ben and I used 
to take long night walks, and it was then 



In the Hunter's Moon 159 

that we did about the only hunting that 
we ever permitted ourselves. 

Old Ben's philosophy in regard to the 
wild life was that each creature, and even 
the bugs and insects, although many of 
them seemed worse than useless to us, had 
their use. That they were put here for 
some purpose, and that we spoiled the 
plan of nature when we attempted to 
exterminate any of them. 

He greatly astonished me one day by 
saying that there were not twenty-five 
per cent, as many song and game birds 
as there had been twenty years before, 
and that it was costing the government 
and the farmer nearly a billion dollars a 
year in loss of crops, fighting insects 
that had multiplied so rapidly since the 
birds had been depleted and could not 
longer keep these pests down. 

"Hunt vermin, Harry, if you must 
hunt," he would say, ^'and let the rest of 
God's creatures alone." 



i6o The Boy Woodcrafter 

One Autumn the raccoons became so 
plentiful and did so much damage upon 
my father's farm, that old Ben declared 
them vermin for the time being, and we 
had some famous hunts, although we got 
but one raccoon all the Autumn. 

We did not so much mind if the rac- 
coons did make holes in the sides of the 
pumpkins scooping out the seeds and eat- 
ing them, or if they came into the garden 
and made sad work in the vegetables, or 
ate sweet apples. They had to live and 
there was enough for both us and them, 
but when they visited our hen coops and 
killed a dozen fine pullets in a single night, 
even old Ben's anger was aroused, and he 
and I declared war upon the raccoons. 

Ben's old fox hound Bugler was a fa- 
mous raccoon dog, and together with a 
dog borrowed from a neighbor, made up 
our pack. 

We would keep the dogs, in the leash, 
and go with them to all the neighboring 



In the Hunter's Moon 161 

cornfields. We would circle entirely 
around each field and would usually find 
a fresh raccoon track that the dogs were 
all eagerness to follow. 

There w:ere several reasons why we did 
not get any coons. Sometimes they 
climbed such large trees that we could 
not cut them down or climb them. Often 
they holed in the ledges near by, where we 
could not dig them out, while frequently 
the dogs would lose the scent after going 
a short distance, or Bugler would strike 
a fox track, and leave the raccoon for a 
fox, which he considered better worth 
while. 

One hunt that we had I shall never for- 
get. Thoughts of it even now make my 
hair rise on my head, for it was only old 
Ben's wonderful alertness, and presence 
of mind that saved me a terrible scratch- 
ing from a bobcat. 

On the particular night to which I re- 
fer we had a varied experience, and one 



i62 The Boy Woodcrafter 

that filled the evening with thrills enough 
to satisfy even the mind of a boy. 

First, the dogs took a fresh trail at the 
edge of my father's cornfield, and went 
off at a brisk pace. They soon holed the 
coon in those same ledges that had given 
us so much trouble, and we had to try 
again. 

After keeping the dogs upon a leash for 
an hour and not starting another raccoon 
we let them go, and they were presently 
barking briskly in a deep swamp* 

Soon we heard some large animal com- 
ing rapidly towards us, and were all ex- 
citement. 

"That is no coon, Harry,'' said Ben 
under his breath. "Keep your eyes open, 
boy, and you may see something that will 
be worth while.'' 

Ben cocked his rifle, and stood listen- 
ing and watching. I strained my eyes in 
the direction of the sound, but could make 
out nothing. 



In the Hunter's Moon 163 

Presently there was a rush of feet 
which seemed to come immediately 
towards us, and before I had the faintest 
idea of what game was a-foot, a beautiful 
doe, with a little dappled fawn, stood 
panting at the edge of the bright rim of 
light cast by our lanterns. 

For a full minute they stood gazing 
wide-eyed and spellbound at the strange 
brightness, just as they will at a jack. 

The fawn crowded close to its dam, 
and gazed up at her with an inquiring 
look, but the doe kept her terror-wide 
eyes fixed upon the light of our lantern, 
as though her life depended upon holding 
it with her gaze. 

It was a wonderful picture and one 
that I shall never forget. 

The bright patch of light, like a pic- 
ture frame, and the two beautiful heads 
at its center. 

Then the dogs came out of the swamp 
into the open, with a great baying and the 



164 The Boy Woodcrafter 

doe and fawn fled precipitately, going at 
such a breakneck pace that it would seem 
as though they must break their legs, for 
it was quite dark on this particular even- 
ing. 

Ben explained after we had caught the 
dogs that a deer had a wonderful faculty 
for running in the dark, even through 
thick timber, and that he had never seen 
but one deer with a broken leg. 

We took the dogs away for a mile in 
the opposite direction from that in which 
the deer had fled, before letting them go. 

Once more they took to the deep 
swamp, and soon they were baying away 
again in an excited manner. 

As the sounds came from one spot and 
the dogs did not seem to be moving, Ben 
said that something out of the ordinary 
was up. He said it did not sound like 
''Up a Tree," and he did not know what 
to make of it. 

Five minutes of floundering about over 



In the Hunter's Moon 165 

dead logs and stepping in deep holes 
which we could not avoid, and we came 
up with the dogs. 

They were dancing about a queer look- 
ing object, very much excited, but seemed 
to be rather afraid of their game. 

At the sight Ben rushed forward as 
though his life depended upon his speed, 
and began whipping the dogs back with a 
switch that he broke from a near by 
bush. 

In the dim light I could not just make 
out what the queer game was, but Ben 
shouted, "It's a porcupine, Harry. We 
came just in time to save the dogs." 

*' Would he eat them?" I asked in my 
ignorance. Ben laughed. ''Worse than 
that," he repHed. "He would fill them 
full of quills." 

Then I went up close and we exam- 
ined the queer fellow to our hearts' con- 
tent. 

I had never seen a porcupine before, 



i66 The Boy Woodcrafter 

a hedgehog being the nearest approach 
that I had known to this wonderful wil- 
derness freak. 

The hedgehog is first cousin to the 
porcupine, but much smaller. 

This specimen that Ben and I were 
examining would weigh twenty-five 
pounds and was covered with quills three 
or four inches long. Ben told me that 
they were barbed, so that if they once en- 
tered an object they could not easily be 
pulled out, but would travel until they 
came out at the other side. 

He said that he knew of a dog that had 
had quills pass entirely through him. A 
terrible fate. 

The porcupine lay flat down upon the 
ground to protect his belly, where there 
were not so many quills. 

"Now watch, Harry," cried Ben, and 
he poked at the place where the tail should 
have been, for Mr. Porcupine did not 
seem to have any tail. 



In the Hunter's Moon 167 

Quick as a flash the tail shot out, and 
two quills stuck in the end of the stick. 
"That is what would have happened to 
the dogs," explained Ben. 'Tor all he 
looks so harmless this is one of the worst 
fellows in the woods for a dog to tackle." 

We found a hollow log and poked Mr. 
Porcupine into it, and then partially 
plugged up the end. "That will keep 
him snug until the dogs forget about 
him," explained Ben; "we will let him out 
to-morrow." 

This swamp seemed fated so we took 
the dogs away to a maple sugar bush, 
which was a fine place for raccoons. 

They soon started what we thought 
a coon, and were almost immediately bark- 
ing "Up a Tree." 

Ben and I hurried to the spot, all ex- 
citement. 

That evening while we had been hunt- 
ing for our first raccoon track, Ben had 
been lecturing me upon the importance of 



i68 The Boy Woodcrafter 

always being upon the alert in the woods, 
and especially of the necessity for instant 
obedience. 

All the wilderness babies have to obey 
instantly. Their lives depend upon it. 
So man when he goes into the woods must 
be alert, and it is always well for a boy 
to obey his elders when he is in the woods 
without stopping to ask questions. 

One of the great dangers, especially 
when in a district where the timber has 
been partially cut off recently, is from 
limbs that lodge in the tops of trees when 
adjacent trees are felled. 

These limbs will often swoop down 
without a minute's warning and strike a 
man dead. More lumber jacks are killed 
in this way than in any other. 

I listened attentively while Ben talked, 
but did not imagine that we would so soon 
have a demonstration of the wisdom of 
my guide's remarks. 

On hurrying to the spot where the dogs 



In the Hunter's Moon 169 

had brought to bay our supposed raccoon 
we discovered that it was not in a very 
high tree, and our hopes rose high as we 
thought we would be sure of this coon. 

Ben began circhng about trying to 
locate the raccoon, at the same time throw- 
ing sticks and stones into the top of the 
tree. 

Suddenly there was a sharp rustle in 
the branches, and then old Ben's voice 
rang out in a sharp command, ''Jump, 
Harry, jump." 

I had just been pondering his remarks 
about quick obedience in the woods, so 
without waiting to ask why, as I might 
otherwise have done, I sprang six feet 
ahead, turning to look over my shoulder 
as I jumped. 

What I saw in mid-air above me made 
me follow up my first spring with two 
more, much longer and more hurried, for 
there just above my head was a large 
dark object, with two gleaming eyes, the 



170 The Boy Woodcrafter 

fierceness of which froze the blood in my 
veins. 

I also imagined that I could see exr 
tended claws, and the mouth of the crea- 
ture wide open ready to take a piece out 
of the back of my neck. 

Just as the animal struck the ground 
Ben's rifle (old Kentucky) cracked, and 
an enormous bay lynx stretched out dead 
almost at our very feet. 

Then when it was all over, I turned 
white as a sheet, and my knees shook so 
that I could hardly stand. 

"That was a pretty close call, Harry," 
cried Ben. 'T didn't suppose that my 
lesson on instant obedience would be dem- 
onstrated so soon, but you can't ever tell 
in the woods. We must always be 
ready." 

We tied the great cat to a pole and 
carried it home between us, and were well 
satisfied with that night's raccoon hunt. 

But all the way home I kept looking 




T 



LRNIAG my head to look over my shoulder 
as I jumped 



In the Hunter's Moon 171 

over my shoulder, half expecting to see 
another lynx bearing down upon me from 
the upper air. 



A WINTER WALK 



Chapter VIII 

A Winter Walk 

One afternoon late in December Ben 
and I tied on our snowshoes and went for 
a Winter's walk. 

Although it was only December, there 
had been several heavy snows, with some 
sharp freezes, so that the old earth had 
the appearance of midwinter. 

It was fine snowshoeing, there being 
just crust enough to hold us up so that 
we glided along easily. 

*'It has always been a wonder to me," 
said Ben, as we shuffled along, "how the 
wild creatures can take such good care of 
themselves in the extreme cold. 

"A tiny field mouse or a bit of wood- 
pecker can keep warm and provide for 

175 



176 The Boy Woodcrafter 

their daily wants where you and I would 
freeze and starve. 

"Where do you imagine the meadow 
mice are now, Harry?'' 

"I don't know," I rephed. "I should 
think they would have a hard time of 
it." 

"Not at all, not at all," replied Ben. 
"They are as snug as bugs in rugs in their 
endless winding tunnels under the grass 
roots. The deep snow that looks so cold 
only serves to keep them warm. 

"A meadow mouse doesn't have to keep 
to four or five rooms in the winter, as you 
or I do. He has got a dozen pantries 
and a dozen dining-rooms in his tunnels 
underground, and sitting-room and bed- 
room with each. He can travel also if 
he has a mind to in his winding tunnels. 

"So all he has got to do is to eat, sleep 
and be merry, while you and I have to 
saw and split the wood and do a dozen 
other chores." 



A Winter Walk 177 

"The field mouse and the wood mouse 
are just as snug, and they go abroad more 
even than their cousins of the meadows. 

"You will often see their dainty tracks 
in the snow about the roots of a tree, or 
near some wall. It is such a lacework 
pattern that you will never mistake 
it. 

"It is almost as much of a mystery how 
the fox survives when we remember that 
his principal article of diet, in the seasons 
when the ground is not covered with snow, 
is mice. He rarely catches any in the 
winter, although he occasionally digs 
down to the grass and tries his luck. 

"Nearly all the other small game upon 
which he relies in the summer is now 
denned up, and Mr. Fox has to sharpen 
his wits or go hungry. 

"But he is a clever fellow and will get 
his dinner in some way, where more stupid 
animals would starve. 

"I am afraid, even as it is, that he would 



178 The Boy Woodcrafter 

often go hungry if it were not for the 
poor rabbit, who is food for both bird and 
beast, and probably the most widely 
hunted creature that runs on four 
legs. 

"The hawk, the owl, the weasel, the wild 
cat, the lynx, the fisher, and last, but not 
least, the sly reynard, all dine on the poor 
rabbit, and if he did not multiply so rap- 
idly, he would soon become extinct. 

"Now, Harry, what do you make of 
the big bunch of leaves away up in the top 
of that tall maple at the edge of the 
woods?" 

"It looks like a crow's nest," I replied, 
"but I guess it isn't anything but just 
some leaves that have lodged in that 
crotch," 

"Mighty queer that so many should have 
lodged in just that way," replied Ben. 
"I guess it is a squirrel's hammock and 
that one and perhaps two sleek grayers 



A Winter Walk 179 

are tucked away in that swinging cradle 
so that every wind that blows will rock 
them in their sleep. 

''Some of the grayers den up in hollow 
trees, while others who are more fanciful 
build themselves a veritable cradle in the 
treetop. They take short sticks and place 
them in a triangular shape where limbs 
fork out, and then begin filling in the mid- 
dle of the triangle with leaves. 

"Then they build on more sticks and fill 
up with more leaves until they have a 
bunch as large as a bushel basket. When 
this is done they dig a hole from the lower 
side into the middle of this nest. The 
hole is always on the lee side of the nest 
so that they will not get the wind. There 
they sleep, while the wind rocks their 
cradle. 

''In the same manner a porcupine will 
crawl up to the very top of a slight tree 
and let the wind rock him to sleep. He 



i8o The Boy Woodcrafter 

hasn't any fear either that he will forget 
himself and let go when he is napping. 
About the only thing his feet have ever 
been taught is to hold on. 

"Here we are at the rabbit swamp. 
Now we will have to take off our snow- 
shoes and wallow." 

It was not so much fun treading our 
way through the laurel as it had been 
scuffing along on the top of the snow. 
Occasionally, I would catch my toe under 
a root or in a tangle of underbrush, and 
down I would go. Once in a while, I 
would step in some deep hole that the 
snow had covered up and would go in al- 
most to my armpits ; then Ben would pull 
me out, and we would both have a good 
laugh at my expense. 

"Here is the rabbit's Broadway," said 
Ben, winding about through the laurel. 
"It's crooked enough to be Washington 
Street, but it is just a rabbit's main street 
through his village. Here on each side 



A Winter Walk 181 

are the avenues and the other side streets 
and leading oif from them are the paths 
leading up to Mr. Rabbit's front door. 
Perhaps Mr. Rabbit's house is a nest un- 
der three feet of snow beneath a bunch of 
laurel roots, or maybe it is an old burrow ; 
in either case he keeps as mum about it 
as he can. He doesn't keep his card 
tacked up to tell the other wild creatures 
where he lives." 

^^Why not?" I asked. "I should think 
he would want his friends to know where 
he lived." 

"So he would if he had any, other than 
rabbit friends/' replied Ben, ''but his ac- 
quaintances outside the rabbit family are 
mostly enemies. If it is near a stream the 
mink will come and try to find what num- 
ber Mr. Rabbit's house is. 

''The weasel will also try to catch him 
asleep and suck his blood, while half a 
dozen others will try to catch him outside 
his house. 



l82 The Boy Woodcrafter 

''See that old yellow birch stub at the 
edge of the swamp?" asked Ben. 

I saw it and remarked that it did not 
look very interesting. 

"There you are wrong, boy. Dead trees 
are always more interesting than live ones 
when you are out looking for the wild 
folk. One old dead maple stump stand- 
ing in the middle of the cow pasture is 
worth a whole grove of ordinary maples. 

"Now, that old birch stump was the 
home of a family of raccoons last year, 
and I wouldn't be surprised if they were 
sleeping there now. You see, Harry, the 
raccoon is the little brother of the bear. 
He walks like a bear, he acts like a bear, 
and his face looks very much like a 
bear's. He likes many of the things that 
a bear eats ; in fact, he is a real little bear, 
although he has a long ringed tail and is 
considered only a raccoon." 

We went over to the birch stump and 
Ben pointed out fresh scratches that some 



A Winter Walk 183 

animal had made by climbing the tree re- 
cently. 

*' There is another point where he re- 
sembles the bear; he always backs down 
out of his front door as Bruin does. Ten 
to one, Harry, there are three or four fat 
coons in there asleep at this very mo- 
ment." 

"There is one thing that I don't under- 
stand, Ben," I said, as we again put on 
our snowshoes and tramped on through 
the open hard wood. 

"When I go into the woods alone there 
don't seem to be so very many things to 
see, although I see more than I used to, 
but when I go with you every old stump 
contains something." 

Ben chuckled. "Does seem as though 
I had the street and number for all the 
wild folk down in my head, doesn't it? 
Well, I haven't at all. I just have to look 
for things like other people. A great 
many of the things that I show you I have 



184 The Boy Woodcrafter 

spent days and weeks looking for. The 
secrets of the woods don't come easy, and 
that is why they are worth trying to dis- 
cover. 

''Did you ever stop to think where all 
the woodpeckers are keeping themselves 
in the winter? They don't migrate, that 
is, not many of them. The golden wood- 
pecker, or flicker, does, but we still have 
the hairy, the downy, the red-crest, and 
the yellow-bellied sap-sucker. You will 
see them all on warm days. 

"In the autumn these woodpeckers pick 
out winter quarters in the trees, and that 
is why you so often hear pounding in the 
fall. They make the winter nest larger 
and more commodious than the spring one 
but Mr. and Mrs. Woodpecker each have 
a nest, usually in different trees. In fact, 
I can't see that the pairing woodpeckers 
have very much to do with one another, 
once their young are reared. 

"The yellow-bellied sap-sucker enjoys 



A Winter Walk 185 

the winter, especially the latter part of it, 
more than all the other woodpeckers put 
together, for it is his special time of har- 
vest. 

^'As soon as sap will run, Mr. Yellow- 
Belly picks out a maple that he knows con- 
tains sweet sap, and goes up and down the 
trunk drilling small holes through the 
bark and into the wood. These holes are 
slanted down so that when the sap flows 
they will fill. By the time Mr. Yellow- 
Belly has drilled his fiftieth hole, the first 
is full of sap, and all the rogue has to do 
now is to travel up and down the trunk 
of the tree drinking out of his sap wells. 
He will sometimes spend nearly the whole 
of a warm March day drinking sap. 

*'Now we are coming to some queer 
looking country. It is the edge of Great 
Bear Swamp, but we are not going to 
penetrate it." 

It was a wild-looking, desolate piece of 
land, scantily wooded with small willows, 



i86 The Boy Woodcrafter 

birches, both white and yellow, and dotted 
here and there with a thick clump of 
spruces. The land was evidently rather 
moist and was altogether as uninteresting 
a spot as I had ever seen. 

*T don't see what we came here for, 
Ben," I said, in a rather disgusted tone. 
"We can't see much here, unless it is an 
occasional rabbit track. It is about as 
lonesome a place as ever I saw." 

"It is a lonesome spot," replied Ben, in- 
dulging my humor, "but those are just 
the places that the wild creatures like. 
They are not so fond of man's society as 
you might imagine. 

"But I guess you will see other than 
rabbit tracks here. Tracks are just what 
I came here to show you." 

Ben was right, as usual. In a few mo- 
ments we came upon the greatest jumble 
of tracks that I have ever seen. They 
ran in every direction, but most of them 
kept to well-beaten paths. 



A Winter Walk 187 

"What in the world is this, Ben?" I 
cried, all excitement. ''It doesn't look 
like anything I have ever seen. Seems as 
though a lot of sheep had been playing 
fox and geese." 

''That is a pretty fair guess, Harry," 
said Ben. "They do look a little like 
sheep or calf tracks but that is not what 
it is. It is a deer yard." 

"A deer yard!" I exclaimed in astonish- 
ment. 'T don't see any fence around 
it." 

Ben laughed. "This is a yard without 
a fence," he said. "You see, when the 
deep snow comes the deer is in a bad fix. 
He isn't built with his small cutting hoof 
for travehng in the snow. So he remedies 
the difficulty by making himself winter 
quarters. 

"The deer always plan their yard so 
that it shall include plenty of birch, maple 
and willow browse, and so that they can 
get to a spring or brook. 



l88 The Boy Woodcrafter 

*'0f course, if the water fails they eat 
snow, but they much prefer water." 

''Ben," I cried, all excitement, 'let's run 
them up into one corner of the yard where 
we can see them." 

My companion laughed. 'T guess you 
would find that quite an undertaking. 
This yard extends nearly around Bear 
Swamp, and it probably contains a dozen 
or fifteen deer. The yard is now doubt- 
less several miles in extent, but it will be 
much smaller as the winter advances. 

^'The deer will find it too hard work to 
keep it all broken out, after the deep 
snows come, so they will give up a large 
part of it and narrow down to a hundred 
acres. 

*T found the deer browsing not far 
from here the other day and perhaps we 
may see them if we have luck. 

"Deer are very wary. Their scent is 
of the keenest, and their hearing is about 



A Winter Walk 189 

as good. The wind is in our favor, how- 
ever, and that is worth a good deal." 

Spite of all we could do, our snowshoes 
made quite a noise crunching upon the 
crust, but, as Ben said, the wind was in 
our favor, and that would also carry the 
noise as well as our scent away from the 
deer. 

We crept cautiously forward for ahout 
forty rods. My nerves were strung to 
the highest pitch as I had seldom seen a 
deer. 

Finally we came out on the brow of a 
slight hill which was quite thickly covered 
with scrub spruces. 

Here we crept along from tree to tree, 
nicely screened by the dark green plumes. 

Ben was the first to reach the brow of 
the hill and peer down into the valley be- 
yond. 

When he had done so he turned to me 
and, putting his finger on his lips as a sign 



igo The Boy Woodcrafter 

to keep very quiet, he hfted his other hand 
and wiggled his forefinger. 

I knew the sign and was overjoyed. 
Ben had told me that to all tribes of the 
American Indians and to trappers and 
hunters, the world over, the wiggling of 
the index finger meant, ''deer near at 
hand," as it is supposed to imitate the wig- 
gling of the deer's tail when feeding. 

I crept forward to Ben's side and peered 
in the direction that he indicated. The 
sight that met my eyes was one of wild 
picturesqueness and beauty that I shall 
never forget. 

Beneath us was a warm, sheltered val- 
ley several acres in extent thickly dotted 
with small birches and here and there a 
clump of spruces. The rays of the set- 
ting sun fell aslant through the birches, 
causing their trunks to shine like silver, 
in strong contrast to the dark green of 
the spruces. The long shadows from the 



A Winter .Walk 191 

evergreens fell across the valley like 
somber bars. 

The snow sparkled and glistened and 
twigs that were snow-laden glittered like 
diamonds. The sun stood on the distant 
hilltop, gilding it with crimson and golden 
streaks. 

There, in this wonderful setting of val- 
ley and hilltop, of light and shadow, were 
five feeding deer. 

A tall, stately buck, was holding down 
a young birch while he browsed con- 
tentedly. 

Two does were nibbling at some 
branches already broken down, while two 
fawns, who by this time had nearly lost 
their dappled markings, were standing 
close to the doe's flanks, as though for 
warmth and protection. 

I hardly dared to breath lest by some 
magic the picture should fade away and 
be lost. I had barely taken in all the de- 



192 The Boy Woodcrafter 

tails of this wonderful scene when there 
was a strong puff of wind at our backs. 

''Wind has shifted, Harry/' whispered 
Ben. "Now watch them." 

The whisper had barely died upon his 
lips when the buck threw up his head, 
snorted and stamped as though half bel- 
ligerent and half terrified. Then there 
was another strong puff* of wind and he 
stamped and snorted again, this time giv- 
ing a short whistle, which sounded like 
blowing in a bottle. 

At this signal the two feeding does 
sprang to his side, closely followed by the 
fawns, and the five deer stood in a close 
bunch wide-eyed and fearful. Their 
heads held high in the air, and their nos- 
trils distended, their every sense strained 
to catch the slightest sound or scent. 

Again the wind blew strong at our 
backs, and this time there was no mistak- 
ing the taint. With a snort of terror the 
buck wheeled and led the wild procession 




T T E stamped and snorted again, this time giving 



a short whistle 



A Winter Walk 193 

at a breakneck pace across the valley and 
over the distant hilltop. 

In fewer seconds than it takes to tell 
it, the gloom had swallowed them and the 
magic of the few fleeting moments was 
broken. 

How suddenly the scene changed. Al- 
most in a twinkling the long purple shad- 
ows turned to black, the sun disappeared 
from the distant hilltops, and only a blood 
red spot showed where the horizon had 
been warm and glowing a minute before. 

In a second the thermometer seemed to 
have fallen a dozen degrees and the wind 
whistled dismally in the leafless treetops. 

I shivered and turned up my coat col- 
lar. ^'Let's go home, Ben," I said. 
"There isn't any more fun for us in the 
woods to-day.'' 

Without a word Ben turned and led the 
way and the rhythmic, mournful creak of 
our snowshoes made a fltting accompani- 
ment to my thoughts. 



194 The Boy Woodcrafter 

How cold, how cheerless, how desolate, 
the old world, that had seemed so bright 
and cheerful a few moments before, had 
grown. The warmth, the life, the joy was 
all gone out of it. How relentless and 
cold was the biting wind and frost, and 
how unmindful of all the wild creatures 
that in some miraculous way must feed 
themselves and keep warm until spring 
came. 

''Harry," said Ben, as we came out into 
the road just above the barn, ''I'll bet I 
can show you something in your own barn 
that you don't know is there." 

"I'll bet you can't," I replied. "You 
may know the woods, Ben, but there isn't 
a crack or corner in the old barn that I 
don't know." 

"Let's see," replied Ben. 

We went to the barn door and Ben be- 
gan a high-keyed, tremulous whistle, as 
mournful as a dirge. 



A Winter Walk 195 

To my great surprise it was answered 
in the same key from somewhere upon the 
big beams. Again Ben whistled and 
again the answer. Then there was a sud- 
den flapping of wings and a bird about 
the size of a quail flapped down almost 
into our faces, hovered for a moment be- 
fore us as though to inspect us and then 
flapped back into the dark. 

It was a chunky brown bird, with a 
catlike head and a very hooked beak, but 
I had never seen it in the barn before. 

"It's a little barn owl," said Ben. "I 
discovered him whistling here when I came 
by this afternoon, and I imagined that he 
had taken up winter quarters in the barn." 

"You can almost always make^ one of 
those little screechers fly down at you by 
imitating his whistle. It seems to anger 
him to hear any one else whistling his own 
particular tune." 

"Good-night, Harry. We will try and 



196 The Boy Woodcrafter 

stalk the deer again some day, but you'll 
never see a prettier picture than we saw 
to-day, if you tramp the woods until you 
are as old as I am." 



CAMP FIRE LEGENDS OF THE 
WOOD FOLKS 



Chapter IX 

Camp Fire Legends of the Wood Folks 

r ROBABLY the most delightful of all 
the camp fires beside which old Ben told 
stories, while I listened with wide open 
eyes, was that of the sugar bush on a 
March night. 

It really was not a camp fire at all, but 
the wonderful blaze in the great arch, 
above which the sap danced and steamed 
in the four-barrel pan. 

Any boy who has not boiled sap on a 
March night with old Ben or some other 
good companion does not know what he 
has missed. 

When there has been a great flow of 

sap and all the storage hogsheads in camp 

are full to overflowing, then it is necessary 

to boil night and day, to make room for 

199 



200 The Boy Woodcrafter 

the next run, and here it is that the boy 
who is not afraid of the dark, or the howl- 
ing of the boisterous wind in the treetops, 
gets a whole lot of fun. 

I was always glad for these extra flows 
of sap in our camp, for although it made 
back-breaking work, I knew that each 
evening I should see Ben's lantern come 
swinging down the road, and a moment 
later I should hear him shouting for me in 
the yard. 

There is so much mystery about a lan- 
tern out of doors at night, and the shadows 
are so fearful that the whole gives just the 
right mixture of adventure to delight the 
heart of a boy. 

Arrived at the camp Ben would refill 
the sap pan from the mighty storage hogs- 
heads, fill the arch with snapping pine and 
spruce logs, and then spread blankets be- 
fore the cheerful blaze, and we were ready 
for the Winter camp fire stories. Of 



Camp Fire Legends 201 

course Ben had to fill his pipe and pufF 
away solemnly for a few moments before 
we were really off. 

^'Did I ever tell you how it was that the 
honey bee got its sting?" he asked one 
night. 

''No/' I replied, "please tell me." Ben 
settled back against a log in a comfortable 
position, pulled steadily at his pipe for a 
few seconds and then began. 

"Well, it was this way. Years and 
years ago, when the world was sort of new, 
as you might say, the bees and the wasps 
didn't have any stingers. There are 
honey bees now in the tropics that don't 
have any, but in those days none of them 
had stingers. Well, there was a swarm 
of bees that lived in an old hollow rock 
maple. They were strong, swift flyers, 
and very industrious. They had lived in 
the old maple for several years, and for 
ten feet up and down, the hollow tree was 



202 The Boy Woodcrafter 

filled with wonderful honey. It was a 
very large swarm, probably sixty thou- 
sand bees. 

''Well, the tree that they lived in was 
standing at a slant. It had been partly 
blown over, and had lodged against other 
trees. The hole where the bees entered 
the tree was on the under side, so the rain 
didn't beat in, and it was shaded in sum- 
mer; altogether it was a fine home for the 
bees. 

"The tree had been struck by lightning 
some time before they found it, and the 
bark had all peeled oif . The rains and 
the winds had polished the wood until it 
was as smooth as finished ebony. 

"One day a bee who was smarter than 
all her fellows had an idea. She had seen 
an otter sliding down a slippery clay bank, 
having the finest kind of a time, so it oc- 
curred to her that perhaps bees could do 
something similar. She probably never 
would have tried it, though, if she hadn't 



Camp Fire Legends 203 

noticed what a fine slide could be had 
upon the bowl of the old maple that w^as 
so hard and smooth. So she buzzed 
up to the top of the smooth place and 
pulled her feet up under her, and folded 
her wings. Then she pushed oif . 

''Down she went in a splendid coast, 
and when she reached the bottom, she 
just spread her wings and soared off 
into the air, flying back to the starting 
place. It was just like a boy with a new 
toy. The more she slid the better she 
liked it. Finally other bees noticed what 
she was doing and they tried it. More 
and more bees came to try the new sport 
until at last there were hundreds sliding 
down the smoother side of the old maple. 
Finally, the queen bee noticed that they 
were not coming in with honey as they 
should be and she came to a crack in the 
tree and peeped out to see what was the 
matter. 

''The queen at once put an end to the 



204 The Boy Woodcrafter 

sport for that day by sending them all off 
for honey, but the sport got so popular 
that the queen had to make a rule that the 
bees should not slide down hill, until they 
had made so many trips to the flowers for 
honey. After that, the bees would hurry 
about their work so that they could get a 
chance to slide. 

"Finally, one day a bee discovered an- 
other partly fallen tree in the woods and 
stopped gathering honey to slide upon it. 
But this tree was not smooth like the first, 
and before the bee knew what had hap- 
pened, she had stuck a sharp splinter in 
her tail. This made it impossible for her 
to slide any more and it pained her. All 
of which she thought was punishment for 
not gathering honey when she ought and 
leaving the play until later. 

"When she got home the rest of the bees 
all made sport of her with the splinter in 
her tail, until at last in sheer desperation 
she gave one of them a severe thrust with 



Camp Fire Legends 205 

the tail, which was now doubly sharp. 
The afflicted bee soon discovered that the 
new tail was a great weapon of defense, 
and none of the bees dared to tease her 
after that. 

^'But her weapon was not perfect until 
she had dipped it in poison, which she got 
from a poison plant. 

"One day, soon after the bee had poi- 
soned her tail, a meddlesome boy came 
poking about the tree. He soon discov- 
ered the hole where the bees entered, and 
began throwing stones at it. 

" 'I will teach him a lesson,' said the 
bee with the poison tail. 'Now you just 
keep your eyes on that boy and see the 
fun.' 

"Zip, went the bee like a bullet, and she 
struck the boy fairly on the end of the 
nose, driving her poison splinter deep into 
the flesh. 

"The boy gave a howl that you could 
have heard for a quarter of a mile and 



2o6 The Boy Woodcrafter 

started for home as though all the bears 
that came after the bad boj^s who sauced 
Elisha had been after him. But pretty 
soon his nose began to swell, and how it 
did smart and ache ! When he got home 
to his mother, it was twice its normal size, 
and he was a comical sight. But the bee 
who had stung him had been so injured 
by having the splinter pulled from her 
tail that she died. That is the penalty 
that they pay for stinging to this day. 
The honey bee who stings you always dies 
in the act. 

''When the other bees saw the boy jump 
and clap his hands over his nose, and heard 
the terrible yell that he gave, they were 
so tickled that they all vowed then and 
there that they would fix their tails just 
like the bee who had stung the boy. So 
the following day nearly the whole swarm 
went to the rough tree, of which the bee 
with a stinger had told them, and slid 
down it until each had a splinter in her 



Camp Fire Legends 207 

tail. Then all went to the poison plant 
and poisoned their splinters, and the whole 
hive were as well armed as the first bee 
had been. 

''After that, men and animals became 
so afraid of the bees that they left them 
very much alone, and they were happier 
and more powerful than they had been be- 
fore. 

''When these bees with the poison tails 
came to hatch little new bees, it was dis- 
covered that the new bees had inherited 
the poison tail, which greatly delighted the 
queen and all the swarm. 

"The bees with the poison tail who lived 
in the old hollow maple were so much bet- 
ter able to take care of themselves that all 
the old kind soon died out, until to-day 
all the bees in these parts have the stinger, 
as bears and boys and men can testify." 

"That's a fine story, Ben," I said at the 
conclusion of the tale. "Can't you think 
of another?" 



2o8 The Boy Woodcrafter 

Ben refilled his pipe and pulled away 
at it thoughtfully for a few moments, then 
said: 

''Don't think I ever told you how it was 
that the snake changes his suit every year. 
Perhaps that would interest you. 

^'Well, when the snake went into the 
Garden of Eden and tempted Eve there 
isn't any account of his going on his belly. 
I can't just say what his manner of trav- 
eling was. Perhaps he walked on the end 
of his tail, but if he did, he was a pretty 
good balancer. 

''When God saw what the snake had 
done, how he had tempted Eve, got her to 
eat of the tree of knowledge, and broke 
up the whole plan of Eden, God said to 
the snake, 'Henceforth you shall go upon 
your belly and be hated and bruised by 



men." 



^ "So the snake got down on his belly 
and wriggled out of Eden, feeling that he 



Camp Fire Legends 209 

had sorter 'cooked his goose/ as you might 
say. 

''At first he didn't mind it so much, for 
he could go creeping about in the grass 
very still and scare people, especially Eve 
and her daughters, making them scream 
and run. This was great fun for the 
snake and he would nearly split with 
laughter each time. 

"But he soon found that there were 
great disadvantages in having to crawl on 
one's belly. In the first place, he could 
not go fast ; in the second place, he could 
not see off and know when his enemies 
were coming; but, worst of all, it wore out 
his clothes. 

"Why, that snake hadn't been going on 
his belly for three months before his pants 
were out at the knees, and he had scraped 
off all his vest buttons, while his coat was 
in tatters and so ragged that he could 
hardly keep it on. 



210 The Boy Woodcrafter 

"This greatly injured the snake's van- 
ity, for he had a fine mottled suit of which 
he had been very proud before his 
fall. 

"Finally his clothes got to looking so bad 
that he hardly dared to show himself, not 
even to scare Eve and her daughters, 
which had been his chief delight. Instead, 
he slunk about in dark corners and lost his 
appetite for frogs. 

"Finally he got so blue about it that 
he decided to go and tell the Wood 
Nymph his troubles and see if anything 
could be done for his case. 

" 'Dear Wood Nymph, kind friend of 
all living creatures,' he began, T am in 
great trouble. Ever since the day that I 
got those silly bipeds to eat the apple, I 
have had to go on my belly and my suit 
is getting so threadbare that I cannot ap- 
pear in company any more. Besides, it 
no longer protects my under skin, which is 
sensitive, and is already quite sore with 



Camp Fire Legends 211 

scraping along the ground. If something 
cannot be done for me, I shall soon be en- 
tirely worn out.' 

''When the Wood Nymph saw the 
snake's sorrow, although he was an ugly, 
wriggling, hissing thing, her heart was 
touched, for she knew that everything that 
God has made is of use and has its place. 

" 'Mr. Snake,' she said, 'I am grieved 
for you. It was a sorry joke that you 
played in the Garden, and we cannot see 
when it will ever end, but I know your 
nature and your weakness, and will not 
judge you too harshly. You will have to 
go on your belly for the rest of your days 
as God has cormnanded; there is no help 
for that ; but this much I will do for you. 
Each year when your old suit is worn out, 
I will give you a new one. When the old 
suit is entirely worn out, if you will wrig- 
gle and twist and writhe, you will find 
that it will come oif , and under it there 
will be a fine new suit. But the style and 



212 The Boy Woodcrafter 

color of the suit will always be the same, 
so that people may know you and keep 
out of your way.' 

"When the snake heard this, he was as 
glad as a boy with a new kite, and at once 
went off into the grass to try and discover 
if the Wood Nymph had spoken the truth, 
for, being a great liar himself, he was sus- 
picious of other people. So the snake 
wriggled, and writhed and twisted until 
his skin came off, and there under it, just 
as the Wood Nymph had said, was a new 
suit. 

"Then the snake lay in the sun to let his 
new suit dry and harden, and when it 
was dried, he went about his business a 
happier snake than he had been for many 
a week. 

"Speaking of how the snake sheds his 
skin," continued Ben, "reminds me of how 
Bed Buck loses his antlers each spring. 
No matter how proudly he has been step- 
ping about a few hours before, suddenly 



Camp Fire Legends 213 

his glory falls, and he is left as hornless 
as a doe. 

''Then in three or four weeks, some 
bunches appear where the horns were, and 
these bunchs are the new horns just begin- 
ning to grow. The horns are composed 
of lime which comes from the deer's blood. 
Right at the base of the horns is a large 
artery which constantly feeds the new 
growth with blood, and this blood gradu- 
ally deposits the hard substance that 
makes horn. 

''While the buck is getting his new 
horns, he has troubles enough of his own, 
and so does not make any for others of 
the wood folks. 

"The new horns are covered with a soft 
substance which is called velvet, and you 
will often see where the buck has rubbed 
it off against a tree. At this time of year, 
the new horns are sensitive and have to 
be continually rubbed. This is also to 
harden them, and get them in shape so 



214 The Boy Woodcr after 

that the red buck can fight his enemies, 
which are usually other bucks, 

''It is very strange that the deer family 
should grow such splendid horns only to 
drop them in the late winter. The antlers 
of the Alaskan moose sometimes weigh 
ninety or a hundred pounds, and are six 
feet across. 

"According to one of my camp fire 
legends, Harry, Red Buck didn't use to 
drop his horns each year, but they were 
taken away from him as a punishment, 
just to keep him from being too high and 
mighty. 

''In those old days, when he kept his 
horns for the entire year, he got to be so 
high stepping, and so combative that there 
was no peace for any one. He would 
even charge the rabbits and foxes, or 
anything that came his way. Often the 
spirit of combat was so strong within him 
that he would butt his own mate about, 
and he finally got so that he occa- 



Camp Fire Legends 215 

sionally killed his own fawn, especially 
if the fawn happened to be a buck. 

''At last he got so bad that all the wood 
folks, including Red Buck's mate, went 
to the Wood Nymph and made complaint 
against him. Mrs. Red Buck was loath 
to do this, but she really could not stand 
having her fawns killed. 

"When the good Wood Nymph heard 
all this, and especially how Red Buck had 
killed his offspring, she looked very 
grieved, and her heart was full of trou- 
ble. She was kind and gentle herself, 
and she wished all the wood folks to be 
the same. Of course some of them had to 
kill others for food, and this was expected, 
but to kill one's own relations in this way 
was too much. 

'' 'Red Buck shall be punished,' said the 
Wood Nymph when she had heard all 
the complaints. 'I have made him too 
beautiful, and have given him too large 
and too strong a set of antlers, but I can- 



2i6 The Boy Woodcrafter 

not take them away from him entirely, for 
that will leave him defenseless. He must 
still have some weapon with which to fight 
the battle of life/ 

"It was a very vexing question, and for 
a long time the Wood Nymph did not 
know what to do, but she finally decided 
to take down Red Buck's pride by taking 
away his horns for a part of the year, 
leaving him hornless only for that portion 
of the year when he needs them the least, 

"So every year, a few weeks before the 
new fawns come, the proud buck loses his 
horns. Then his pride leaves him, and he 
goes away into the deep woods and nurses 
his new horns until they are quite well 
grown, and it is not until he has polished 
and rubbed them for several months that 
they are ready for the battle/' 

"That is a good story, Ben,'' I said 
when he had finished, "but I guess it is a 
make-believe.'' 

"You ask the buck if losing his horns is 



Camp Fire Legends 217 

a make-believe, and I think he will tell you 
quite different." 

''You don't know how it was that the 
partridge learned to drum, Ben?" I asked. 
I felt quite sure that if Ben didn't know, 
he would think up some ingenious way 
for accounting for it. 

My companion refilled his pipe and 
pulled thoughtfully at it for several min- 
utes before making reply. ''Nothing 
polishes up my memory like a full pipe/' 
he said at last. 

"I didn't seem to remember just how it 
was at first, but I guess I have recollected. 
You see I am such an old man that I have 
forgotten a great many things that I used 
to know, and that was one of them. It 
was this way: 

"Once there was a cock partridge who 
was not so beautiful as his fellows, and he 
had a hard time getting a mate. You 
know girls and women think a pile of fine 
feathers, and so do the lady birds. 



2i8 The Boy Woodcrafter 

''This cock was strong and smart and 
all right in every way, only his feathers 
were rusty, and this made him feel awk- 
ward and out of place. You know how a 
boy feels when company comes and he has 
got on his old clothes with holes in the 
knees and elbows. 

"Well, this cock didn't have anything 
but just his old every-day rusty suit, so 
he didn't feel like strutting up and down, 
and wooing the lady partridges as the 
other cocks did. And the lady partridges 
wouldn't have anything to do with him. 

''One day the poor cock was standing 
on an old log in a deep thicket, wishing 
that the hawk or the owl would happen 
along and carry him off, he was that cut 
up about it, when in a sudden fit of de- 
spair he raised both his wings and beat 
upon his breast. To his great surprise 
the thump of his wings against his breast 
made a loud noise that almost frightened 
him. But the sound that he had made 



Camp Fire Legends 219 

interested him, so presently he raised his 
wings and struck again. 

"He soon discovered that by swelling 
out his feathers and by striking very hard 
and fast with his wings he could make a 
noise that fairly made the woods ring. 

*'When the rabbits and the squirrels first 
heard this racket in the deep woods that 
had been so quiet and peaceful a moment 
before, they were greatly frightened and 
fled away in terror, but finally one rabbit 
who was braver than the rest came back 
to investigate. 

"The thing that the rabbit saw fairly 
took its breath away, for there, standing 
on the middle of the log, was Mr. Rusty 
Coat, as they called him. He was bris- 
tled up to his greatest size, and his wings 
were beating upon his breast so rapidly 
that the eye could not follow them. The 
cock looked as large as a bushel basket. 

"When the rabbit saw what was going 
on in the thicket, it hurried away and told 



220 The Boy Woodcrafter 

a female partridge who was scratching for 
beechnuts in a neighboring thicket. So 
the lady partridge went to see. 

''She was so delighted with the per- 
formance and with the enormous size of 
the cock when he was drumming that she 
went right up to him and began making 
love to him when he had finished, although 
she had refused him several times before 
that spring. 

''But by this time the cock was getting 
mighty vain of his accomplishment, so that 
when the lady partridge asked him to 
marry her, he said 'not much.' He was 
too busy drumming to think of marriage. 

"They say a woman can't keep a se- 
cret. No more can a lady partridge. So 
when the poor female saw that it was no 
use trying to get the cock, she told her 
sister partridges of the wonderful drum- 
mer on the old log in the witch-hazel 
thicket. So other female partridges came 
to hear the wonderful drummer, and he 



Camp Fire Legends 221 

soon had all the lady partridges in the 
woods about his drumming log watching 
and listening. 

"No matter how saucy or hateful they 
had been to him when he was only Mr. 
Rusty Feathers, all were ready to praise 
and admire him now. 

''Well, it ended just as it always does, 
Harry. They were so persistent that he 
finally had to marry one of them to get 
rid of the rest, so he picked out the most 
beautiful and the largest of all his admir- 
ers, and they were married by the Wood- 
chuck, who was then Justice of the Peace, 
and I presume they lived happy for ever 
afterwards. 

''You see this partridge's drumming 
had turned out such a success that all the 
other partridges soon learned it, and they 
have kept it up to this very day." 

"Is that all, Ben?" I asked, my eyes riv- 
eted upon this wonderful magician of the 
camp fire. 



222 The Boy Woodcrafter 

"Surely^ Harry," replied my compan- 
ion, jumping up briskly, ''you don't want 
all the good things in one night. Besides 
it is time for our midnight lunch." 

Then we would open the basket that my 
mother had packed for us and such an 
array of good things would be piled upon 
the blanket that I speedily forgot to tease 
for more camp fire stories. 

When we had finished bread and butter, 
with eggs boiled in the hot sap, and eaten 
pie and doughnuts, we would set rosy 
baldwin apples sputtering before the dan- 
cing blaze, and chestnuts roasting in the 
coals. I would shell the popcorn, and 
soon it would be popping away like a 
Lilliputian army. 

With these good things so tempting to 
the palate of a country boy we rounded 
out our midnight meal. 

Outside the winds would be howling 
and shrieking in the treetops, while the 



Camp Fire Legends 223 

great branches thrashed their arms and 
groaned. 

Perhaps in some lull there would come 
the mellow, mournful call of the great 
Horned Owl. I knew from Ben's 
teachings that the small horned owls were 
already hatched in the hollow top of some 
tree in the black ash swamp. 

Or maybe the lull between gusts from 
nature's mighty bellows would be punctu- 
ated with the sharp bark of a fox. 

Some night prowler in search of a par- 
tridge or a field mouse. 

If the night was very cold occasionally 
the crust upon the snow would snap with 
a report like the crack of a rifle. 

How well I knew all these night sounds, 
and what they meant, thanks to my kind 
old Woodsman Friend. 

From listening to the outdoor sounds 
I would fall to studying the queer shapes 
that came and went in the firelight, or in 



SEP 27 1913 

224 The Boy Woodcrafter 

the great clouds of steam that danced over 
the sap pan. Hobgobhns and ghosts 
without end. 

I never could make out whether it was 
the howling of the wind and the snapping 
of the fire, or the bubbling of the sap, or 
all three that made me so sleepy. 

When Ben had made everything snug 
for the night, and had spread do\\Ti a 
couple of warm buffalo robes that we kept 
at camp for the purpose, a cozier bed 
could hardly be imagined. So to the 
music of the howling wind, and snapping 
fire and bubbling sap, we fell asleep be- 
fore our Winter camp fire. 




'1^^ 










•.'ia. 






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